


Prophet of the Lord

by scruffandyarn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophets, Psychological Torture, Season 10 stuff, Season 11 stuff, Season 9 stuff, Swearing, Torture, Visions, implying potential rape, part 9 is probably the most intense so far
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffandyarn/pseuds/scruffandyarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OK, so this started off based on this:<br/>http://dirtysupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com/post/94766657126/imagine-being-a-prophet-of-the-lord-and-michael-or<br/>but I found I currently suck at writing smut, so I altered it a bit (basically, <b>what if Metatron hadn't "flipped the switch" fast enough after Kevin's death</b>).  Only, it kept growing.  Now, it's gotten pretty long and so I'm posting it here (as well as tumblr).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve had these freaky-vivid nightmares for two nights. Now, this crazy guy shows up in your room in the middle of the night to tell you that you’re a prophet, he’s an archangel, and something called a Metatron is probably going to kill you. _Great._

“______.” 

The voice calling your name woke you from your restless sleep.  That wasn’t right.  You lived alone and you sure as hell hadn’t invited anyone into your apartment.  Even if you had, it wouldn’t have been an open invitation for them to come into your room in the middle of the night.  Looking down to the foot of your bed, you could just make out a figure, illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlight coming in through your curtains.

You reached for the gun you kept in the drawer of your bedside table.  You’d never actually used the thing on a person--it was something you’d gotten when your ex decided he didn’t want your relationship with him to be over and began stalking you.  

But that wasn’t your ex’s voice.  In fact, the last you’d heard about _him_ was that he’d been picked up for violating the restraining order that another of his exes had out on him.  No--this wasn’t your ex.  So then who the fuck was in your bedroom?

“______, the gun won’t be necessary.”  Your felt your fingers finally brush against metal.  You wrapped them around the grip panel.  You were about to raise it out of the drawer when you heard what sounded like a snap and the gun vanished from your hand and you found yourself clutching at air.

“What the fuck--” The only thing that was close to you that might substitute as a weapon was the lamp on the table.  You grabbed it, brandishing it like a bat as you scrambled out of your bed.  You had no idea what you were doing, but if he was here to attack you, and really, what other reason would a strange man have for being in your apartment uninvited, you were going down fighting.

“Really?” He sighed, sounding exasperated.  This guy breaks into  _your_ apartment, comes into  _your_ room, wakes  _you_ up and freaks  _you_ out, and  _he_ has the nerve to sound put-out?  You rounded your bed, ready to take a swing at him, when you heard another snap and the lamp was gone.  “You ready to listen?”

“Fuck you!”  At this point, though, your only option was to run from your room and hope you could find something to protect yourself with.  So that’s what you did.  Or, rather, that’s what you attempted to do.  Another snap and you were flush against the wall of your bedroom, unable to move.  Fear took over and if you had been able to, you would have collapsed into a ball, sobbing.    _Please, just make it quick._

“Look, ______ I’m just here to talk.  If you promise you won’t try to kill me or run away, I’ll let you go.”  Your mind was racing--if you agreed and somehow managed to survive, would someone claim you were asking for it because you’d stopped fighting back?  “For Dad’s sake, will you please chill?  I am not here to kill you or rape you or whatever you’re thinking.”  Tears threatened to spill from your eyes.  “What do I have to do to convince you I’m not here to hurt you?”

“Give me back my gun.” You had no idea where you found the courage to even speak.  Just because he said he wasn’t there to hurt you didn’t mean he wasn’t lying.

“How about this: I let you go from the wall, I give you back your gun and your lamp, but you promise to hear me out.  Will that work for you?”  Was this what it was like--negotiating with terrorists?  Because that’s what you were--absolutely terrorized.  “I’m not a terrorist.”  How the fu-- “You swear a lot.”  He seemed almost amused.  “I’m waiting for an answer.”

“Fine.” Another snap and you dropped to the floor.  You found your footing quickly and found the gun back in your hand.  You didn’t bother looking for the lamp before raising the gun in the direction of the figure, ready to pull the trigger.  “Who are you?”

“Name’s Gabriel, pumpkin.”

“What are you doing here?”  Your voice cracked a little, causing you to cringe. Now was not the time to show weakness.

“I’m here because I bring you good tidings and all that jazz.  Surprise!  You’re a prophet of the Lord.”  He broke into your apartment to talk about religion???  You’d met some pretty weird people in your time, you even had a crazy-stalker ex, but this guy.  This guy was something else.  “I know, I’m fabulous.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here, ______, because, as a prophet, you get your own handy-dandy security guard in the form of an archangel--namely, me, seeing as how I’m the only one left not currently locked in a cage in hell.”

“Get out of my apartment right now, and I might decide not to call the cops.”

“Oh, please.  Like I’m afraid of a bunch of donut-chasers.” He scoffed.  

“That’s not nice.”  Stupid brain--he’s trespassing in your home and scaring the shit out of you and he insults cops like he’d take them all on single-handedly--that’s what you come up with as a retort?  That he’s  _not nice_ ?

“Hey, I’m nice.  I could have left you stuck to the wall while I explained all this to you.”  True, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook for even being there in the first place.  

“Who are you, seriously?”

“I told you, already.  I think the better question would be,  _what_ am I?”  He paused, waiting for you.  Teeth clenched, you relented.

“Fine.   What are you?”  You growled.

“That’s better.  See, isn’t it nice when we work together?” He took a step towards you and you fired the gun.  “You don’t work well with others, do you?”  He didn’t sound the least bit in pain.  Panicked, you fired again.  “OK, now that’s just annoying.”

“What the hell are you?” It might have been dark, but you weren’t totally inexperienced with a gun.  The moment you’d purchased it, you had signed up for classes on how to use it.  You were a fairly decent shot, not to mention, you hadn’t heard the bullets whizz past him and into the wall or any of your furniture.  They must have hit their intended target, but he was still standing, sounding like you’d done nothing more than throw feathers at him.

“My dear, I am an angel of the Lord.”  The dark room was suddenly illuminated by six huge, glowing wings that sprouted from the man’s back.  You used one hand to shield your eyes, your pupils nowhere near being ready to accept that much light all at once.  “See?” You could finally see the man--er-- _angel’s_ face.  He had dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, and--was that a five o’clock shadow?

“Pretty scruffy looking for an angel.”  What the fuck was wrong with your brain???  _Holy shit, I’m going to die._

“You’re not going to die,” he laughed.  “That’s the whole reason I’m here.  To make sure you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night.”

“Would you relax?”

“You broke into my apartment and you’re fucking glowing--and you want me to relax?”  This had to be a dream.  Every single bit of it.  Another one of those stupid dreams you’d been having for two nights now.  The ones that seemed so real and dark and left you waking up to the sound of your own screaming.

“You’re not dreaming.”  Finally, the wings seemed to fold back into his body, leaving the room in total darkness.  The sudden shift in light meant you couldn’t even see the glow from the streetlight anymore.  Startled, you fired off another shot.  “OK, you’re done with that now.”  You heard another snap and the gun was no longer in your hand.  But, the lights had come on, including the lamp you’d grabbed earlier, that was now back on your table.  Looking at him, you could see three holes in his shirt, one for each of the rounds you’d fired off, but the flesh underneath them wasn’t marred in the slightest.

“You’re an angel.” You whispered, tearing your gaze from his shirt to look at his face.  That was the only way to explain what you were seeing.  


“And all it took was you shooting me for you to realize that.” He rolled his eyes at you, effectively diminishing your feeling of amazement.

“Well, maybe if  _somebody_ had found a better way to inform me, I wouldn’t have shot you.” You folded your arms across your chest and glared at him.

“Alright, so maybe this wasn’t my best entrance.” He shrugged.  “I just found out about the last prophet dying, and figured I’d better get to you before Metatron could.”

“English, please?”

“The last prophet--Kevin Tran--Metatron had him killed.” He spoke slowly, patronizing you.  “I am here to keep you safe from him.”

“What the fuck is a Metatron?”

“He’s a squirrelly little angel who thinks he’s Dad now.”

“Dad, as in...” Your gaze drifted to the ceiling.

“Got it.”  Gabriel huffed.  “Except, Dad’s not up there.  No one’s up there, except all the dead souls and Metatron.  The rest of the angels got the boot when Metatron took over.”

“Where _is_ God in all of this?” You hadn’t ever really felt a pull towards religion, but if there was an angel in your bedroom, maybe it was time you started believing in something.  “If Metatron’s so evil, why isn’t God doing something about it?”

“Don’t know.” His face fell and he turned away from you to face your windows.  “All I know is, Metatron is looking to keep heaven and with you being the new prophet, he’s going to think you might be able to reverse what’s been done.”

“Can I?”  He shrugged.  “Look, Gabriel,” he turned back to face you, “I don’t really understand what it is you want from me.”

“The only thing I want is to go back home.” He looked a little shocked at himself as the words left his mouth.  “I don’t know if you can help.  What I do know is that the prophet, whoever it is, is to be protected by an archangel.  And like I said--I’m the only archangel left.”

“No offense, but if the prophet before me just died, I’m not really sure how safe I feel with you as my guardian.”  His eyes flashed and you felt your fear begin to elevate again.

“A prophet has never had to fear an angel before now.”

“Metatron.” That meant Gabriel  _had_ been keeping Kevin safe.  He just hadn’t thought another angel would do something like that.  You weren’t sure how you felt about that.  You weren’t sure how you felt about any of this.  But you figured it was probably in your best interest to get as much information about the situation as possible.

“And his right hand-man, Gadreel.”  He sneered the name.  “I wasn’t there to keep Kevin from being killed.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t protect you, ______.”

“What if I said I can take care of myself?”

“You can’t.” For a moment, he almost looked afraid--and if he was afraid... You were so screwed.

“Can I just turn down this whole prophet thing?  It doesn’t really sound like something I’d be good at.”

“No can do, sweetcheeks.” He was back to being flippant.  “This isn’t the kind of job you apply for.  All of the prophets have been predetermined, and there’s no altering it.  Once one prophet dies, the next one gets activated.”

“What do you mean, activated?”

“I bet you’ve been having visions, right?  Flashes of other people’s lives--people you’ve never met before?  They seem so real, like you’re actually there, experiencing what you’re seeing?  That sound familiar?”

“I thought they were just nightmares.” That’s all they could have been.  Except, apparently not.  “Is it like a prediction or do I see things as they happen?”  He shrugged, but you weren't satisfied with that as a response.  “There’s this guy with a rock or something--he’s on the floor--his eyes, oh God, his eyes.” You shivered, recalling your very first  _vision_ .  “Can he be saved?”

“No.” There was a hint of sadness there.  “What you saw was Kevin after Gadreel killed him.”

“But he--he wasn’t doing anything!  He was just standing there!  He wasn’t even fighting back!”  You felt like you wanted to vomit.  “Why--”

“Because Gadreel was using one of Kevin’s friends as a vessel.  Sam--”

“Winchester.”  Shit, that name.  It ran through your mind so many times a day you’d lost count.  “Where was Dean?  Why didn’t Dean warn Kevin?” These people you’d thought you were dreaming about--people you thought your mind had just created--they were  real people.  _Holy shit._  


“He got there too late.”  There was more to this story, you could feel it.  But so far, you’d only been getting bits and pieces, and it didn’t look like Gabriel was going to be telling you the details any time soon.  

Before you could say anything else, an intense feeling overwhelmed you and you collapsed to the floor.  It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.  The feeling took over every part of you, every cell--you’d swear you could feel it in your hair follicles and toenails.  Your mind blanked, as did your vision.  You were floating in some sort of void.  And then, as suddenly as the feeling had come, it left.

“______!” Gabriel was kneeling next to you, smacking your cheeks, trying to draw you back to consciousness.

“Stop hitting me, asshat.”  You growled and pushed yourself up so that you were sitting.  “What the hell was that?”

“I was just about to ask you the same question.”  He looked worried.  

“I’m going to fucking die, aren’t I?”  You tried not to let your fear come through in your voice, but you were failing miserably.

“He’ll have to get through me, first.  And I can handle that little pipsqueak of a scribe.”  You winced before asking your next question, hoping that you wouldn’t regret the answer.

“Scribe?”  

“Yeah.  He wrote everything Dad said.  Like His own personal secretary.  Although I’d probably have to gouge my eyes out if I ever saw Metatron in a skirt.”

“Now, why do you have to assume that a secretary is a woman?”  He rolled his eyes.  “Oh, no.  I am not getting stuck with some douche angel who thinks women belong in the kitchen.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you to go make me a sandwich?”  You narrowed your eyes even though you knew he was teasing.

“Give me back my gun.”  You hissed.

“It’s not like it’s going to hurt me.”

“Yeah, but it’ll make me feel a shit-ton better.”  You pushed yourself to your feet.  “If that’s your attitude about women, I think I’d prefer Metatron being in charge.”  Suddenly, he was on his feet as well, looming over you, his eyes glowing.

“Metatron will  never be God.  Do you understand me?” He looked ready to take your head off without a second thought.

“I’m not going to listen to your misogynistic bullshit.  Do  _you_ understand  _me_ ?” Wow--you sounded a lot braver than you actually felt.  After a brief stare-down, you sighed.  “I get that Metatron is the number one fuck-tard in the universe, but if we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and it sounds like we are, then you need to understand, I’m not going to be treated like shit just because I have a vagina.  OK?”  He was still glaring.

“I’m an archangel, heaven’s most terrifying weapon.  I deserve respect.”

“Well, I’m a human, ornery and cantankerous, and I deserve respect, too.”  His glare faded, and you could tell he was fighting a smile.  “We good?”  You were hopeful.  You weren’t looking forward to spending time with this guy if the two of you  _weren’t_ good.

“I suppose we are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are a prophet of the Lord, which should seriously come with better perks than strange visions and an even stranger archangel. But, he does cook or snap food into existence or whatever he does, so there is that. And he hasn’t killed you yet even though he’s probably thought about it a million or so times, which is a definite plus.

“So,” you drew the word out, “being a prophet--what do I have to do?  I mean, other than have freaky-ass visions when I’m trying to sleep.”  That was more than enough in your opinion.  You didn’t sleep well as it was, you didn’t need anything else keeping you up at night.

“That depends on what you’re needed for.  Kevin was working to translate the Angel Tablet, but before him, the pro--”

“Angel Tablet--you mean that rock thing he was holding in my vision.”  Gabriel nodded.  “And I’m supposed to be able to read it?” You hadn’t been able to clearly make out all the markings from your vision, but what little you  could make out, you were fairly certain it wasn’t in any language you’d ever seen before.

“Metatron has it, so even if you could, it’s not like he’s just going to loan it to you.”

“What do you mean,  _even if I could_ ?  If I’m supposed to be a prophet, I should be able to read a stupid stone.”  _Right?_

“First, it’s not a stupid stone.” He growled. “And second, Kevin spent a long time trying to decode that and the Demon Tablet and he still only wound up accidentally translating the part that got us all kicked out of heaven.”

“Oh.” You frowned. “I’m really not cut out for this, am I?”

“______, it’s not a matter of whether you’re cut out for it or not.  Dad chose you, and He wouldn’t choose someone who couldn’t handle it.” You weren’t sure if he was being honest with you or not.  But, even if it was a lie, it made you feel a little better.  “I’m not going to lie to you.”

“Would you please stop doing that?” It was unnerving.  You didn’t want someone to know every thought that popped into your head.  What if you started picturing someone naked and--

“You can picture whoever you want to.”  He wiggled his eyebrows.

“This is what I’m going to be stuck with until I die?”

“Yep.”  All of a sudden, you noticed something was sticking out of his mouth.  You blinked.  _It wasn’t there a second ago._

“Is that a sucker?”  He nodded, grinning.  “Do I want to know?”  He shrugged, pulling the stick and letting the candy out of his mouth with a pop.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night, yeah?”  You glanced over at your bedside table to see the alarm clock reading 2:17 AM.

“Fuck!  I have to get up for work in a few hours.”  You groaned, slapping your hand to your forehead.  “I’m gonna be so fucking tired.”

“Well, then I guess it’s time for bed.”  The sucker disappeared from Gabriel's hand and he started towards your bed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s bed time.”  He replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  And he still kept moving to it--going so far as to start pulling back the covers from the side of the bed you didn't sleep on.

“Uh, not for _you_ in _my_ bed.  There’s a motel just down the street.”

“Don’t you think me being down the street kinda defeats the whole purpose of being here to protect you?”  Thankfully, he’d stopped his attempt to actually get in to your bed.  Only, he did have a point.  It’s not like he could hear you scream from down the street if somebody attacked you.  Damn it.

“Well, then there’s a couch in the other room.” Your adrenaline from earlier was definitely leaving your system because you suddenly felt very sleepy.

“Oh, come on.  You’re bed’s big enough for both of us.  And it’s not like I even sleep.” He pouted.  An angel was  pouting at you.  

“Because you not sleeping while you’re in bed with me doesn’t sound creepy at all.”  You rolled your eyes.  He shrugged and started to get in the bed.  “No-no-no.  That was not an invitation.  Fuck,” you growled, “I’m not in the mood to share my bed with a crazy man I just met.  Go not-sleep on the couch.”

“I’m not a man.”  You noticed he hadn’t contradicted your calling him crazy, and you began to giggle--you definitely needed some sleep, and soon.  He shook his head at you even as a smile appeared on his face.  “Fine.  I’ll take the couch.”

“Thanks.” You sighed, feeling a little relieved.  He headed for the door, walking past you.  You noticed the three holes still in his shirt and a worrying thought struck you.  “Oh, shit, what am I going to say to my neighbors?  I mean you--and the gunshots--and the lights--and all the yelling.  I’m going to get kicked out!”  You started to panic, running your fingers through your hair.

“Got it taken care of.  As far as anyone is concerned, your lights went out at 9:30 like they always do, and you slept until your alarm went off.”  You sighed in relief.

“Thank you.”  You waited he was out of the room before crawling back into your bed.  As soon as your head hit the pillow, you felt sleep creep up on you.  “I am so fucking screwed.”

*****  
** **

Your alarm sounded at 5AM, just as it was supposed to.  You groaned and slammed your hand down on the snooze button, hoping for just ten more minutes of sleep.  You needed more rest after the horrid nightmares you’d experienced the night before.

“Rise and shine, ______!” Your eyes shot open at the sound of the voice you were sure you’d dreamed up.  “No, you didn’t dream me up, baby-cakes, although I am dreamy.” You could hear his voice coming from the living room/dining room/kitchen area of your apartment.  You hoped to...well...God, that he hadn’t broken anything.  “My, someone is paranoid.” And just like that, Gabriel was sitting on your bed.

“Gabriel--what the fuck?” You sat up and yanked your covers up to your chin.

“You know, as an angel, I can see through all that.”  He motioned to your blankets, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Ugh--why are you so damned pervy?”  You groaned, leaning over to switch off your alarm.  You obviously weren’t going to be getting those ten extra minutes.  “At least let me pretend that you have some semblance of decency and respect for me.”

“What?” He looked shocked.  “I was talking about seeing your soul!   Your mind must be in the gutter if that’s what you automatically assume I’m talking about.”  Scowling, you lower the blanket and shove him before you could think better of it.

“Oh, fuck--is that like an instant trip to hell?  Shoving an angel?  Gabriel, I am--” You cut yourself off when you realized he was laughing at you.  “You’re an ass.”  You got out of bed and stomped past him.

“Well, fine.  I guess you don’t want any of the breakfast I made for you, then.”  That had you spinning around to face him.

“Breakfast?”  Your usual breakfast consisted of toast or a pop tart or something that didn’t require much effort.  “You made me breakfast?”  This whole angel on your shoulder bit might not be so bad after all, especially if it meant he was doing the cooking.  Not that there was a lot of food in your apartment to cook with, but it was the thought that counted.

“I’m certainly not going to eat it--it’s too healthy.”

“Thank you.”  You smiled, earning one in return.  “I don’t think I’ve had anyone make me breakfast since I moved out of my parents’ house.”  You bit your lip.  “And I’m sorry that I made an incorrect assumption about you and for calling you pervy.”

“You weren’t wrong.”  He wiggled his eyebrows and you forced yourself not to scream in frustration.  “But you get ready for work and I’ll go check on breakfast.”  With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

*****  
** **

Twenty minutes later, you had showered and put your work clothes on.  Other than mascara and chapstick, you didn’t really bother with wearing makeup to work anymore.  It wasn’t out of vanity, but rather, practicality.  After your first week in that stuffy, overheated mailroom, you’d realized there was no point.  You always managed to sweat it off in about an hour or so, and people were not especially thrilled when they got their mail with smudges of foundation on it.  

“Where the hell did you get all this?”  You had walked out of your bedroom expecting eggs, since you knew you had those.  What you were greeted with was an entire buffet covering your table--the eggs you’d expected, along with crepes, a bowl of fruit, a stack of waffles, biscuits, bacon, three different casseroles, and a full coffee pot.

“I didn’t know what you’d want, so I just made a bunch of stuff.”

“But where did it all come from?  I know I don’t have the ingredients for half this sh--stuff.”

“A perk of being an angel.”  He snapped his fingers and a plate appeared on the table with what you thought might just be--

“Is that what I think it is?”  You stepped closer to the table, and yes--blueberry muffins.  “They’re still warm.”  You looked up at Gabriel in amazement, your stomach rumbling in approval.

“I’m good.” He grinned, and a glass of juice appeared in his left hand.

“This is amazing, but there is no way I can eat all of it.”  And all that good food going to waste...

“Again,  angel. ”  He snapped and all the food was gone.

“Where does it go?”

“Away.”  He shrugged and snapped all of it back.

“Oh.” You frowned, surveying all the food again.  You knew there were at least two of your co-workers who worked multiple jobs to make sure their kids had enough to eat.  “Could I bring some of this with me to work?”

“What for?  I can conjure you up some lunch when I’m there.” He was going to work with you? “Now that I know Metatron’s a threat to the prophet, where you go, I go.” Apparently so.  It was a little creepy, but you figured, better that than on the floor with your eyes burned out.

“I can’t eat all of this, but I could share it with some of the people I work with.”  This was the safer topic...no need start an argument right then about when and where he could not follow you.

“I’m here for the prophet, not for every human with struggles.” There was no malice in his tone, and that broke your heart a little bit.  If an  _angel_ could feel that way--that there was nothing beyond the scope of his job, that hardships were something to be accepted instead of fought against, then what hope did  _people_ have in trying to make a difference?  “You think I’m an asshole.”

“Kind of, yeah.”  You suddenly weren’t hungry anymore.  “I think I’ll just head on to work, now.”  You saw his lips press together in anger so you scurried past him to your door.  You didn’t make it to the door--the sound of something shattering made you spin around.  “What the--”

“Eat. Your. Breakfast.” He bit out.  You saw blood dripping from his hand and the pieces of a glass on the floor in a puddle of juice.  He must have crushed it with his grip.  

“No.” You said quietly, eyes still glued to the mess.  

It wasn’t that you weren’t afraid.  You were absolutely terrified--he'd just crushed a fucking glass with his hand!  But you knew that this prophet gig was going to be yours until you died.  Even though his display of anger scared the shit out of you, you didn’t want him to think you were going to be easily manipulated by your fear.  Because then you’d always stay in that state--he'd keep you there to control you.

“I can force you to.”

“I know you can.  And if that’s what will make you feel better, go ahead.  But I’m not just going to roll over for you.” Silence reigned in your apartment for several minutes.  Finally, you looked up at his face.  He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem nearly as angry as he had been.

“You really are ornery, aren’t you?”  That pulled a small smile from you.

“Pretty much.”  He chuckled.  “You want me to get some bandages for your hand?”  You took a step towards him.

“I’m fine.”  And just like that, he held his hand up and his injury was gone.  There was no blood, no gash--his hand looked perfectly normal.

“Angel thing?”  He nodded.  You swallowed and pressed on.  “I’m not asking you to make more food for anyone.  I’m just wanting to take the food you’ve already made into work.  I’m not really sure what the issue is.  You made it for me, right?”

“Yes.”  He sighed, wearily.

“So then I should be able to do whatever I want to with it.  And I want to bring it in.”  He was still not happy with that idea, you could tell.  “Look, I do it today and if it’s really that much of a burden for you, I go back to eating toast or pop tarts for breakfast.”

“You’re not going to give this up until I agree.”  It wasn't really a question, but you nodded anyway.  “Fine.”  He huffed and snapped his fingers.  Your table was suddenly covered in styrofoam to-go boxes in a neat little stack.  “What am I supposed to do with the coffee?”

“Drink it?” You suggested with a shrug.  “I don’t know--I’m not a huge coffee drinker, myself.”

“Now you tell me?  After I got the beans all the way from Columbia?”  You started to feel a little guilty at all the effort he’d put into the coffee until you saw the smirk on his face.

“Bite me, angel-boy.” He threw his head back in laughter.  His response was unexpected, but you welcomed it.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is seriously wrong about this being who’s calling himself an archangel. Angels are supposed to be helpful and kind. Not twisted and jaded. You’re getting to a point where you’d prefer they were non-existent if all he’s going to do is screw up your work and break your spirit.

Scratch that.  This would be absolute hell.  You were only ten minutes into your shift when Gabriel decided he was bored watching you sort mail.  After that, he’d done nothing but pester you until you were ready to strangle him.  Sure, you’d been bored with the job after the first day, but it was a job.  It paid your rent and kept you fed.  And somebody had to make sure the right mail went to the right person.  Might as well be you.

“You think Mr. Sawyer will appreciate the laxative brownies?”  You looked over in time to see Gabriel shove a package into one of the many pigeon holes that lined the room.

“Gabriel, you can’t do that!”  You rushed over and swatted his hands away before pulling out the package.  “‘A Secret Admirer’?  That’s who you marked it from?  Are you trying to get me fired?”

“What difference does it make, ______?  You’ve got an angel with you.  An  _arch_ angel.” At his emphasis you cocked an eyebrow.  You had no idea what the difference was.  “That means that once we figure out how to get back into heaven,  I get to call the shots.”

“Explain to me, again, why that’s a  good thing?” You smirked and he smiled--only, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Because with me in charge, it’ll actually be a place I want to go back to.”  Your heart broke a little more.  “I don’t want your pity.”  He snapped.

“It’s not pity.” You shook your head.  “Archangel,” you pointed at him, “or lowly human,” you pointed at yourself, “everybody deserves a place they want to call home.”  Not really sure what else to say, you turned back to your work, quickly putting the secret admirer package in the garbage.

“You know, you really should let me send those to him.”  It hadn’t taken long for Gabriel to bounce back.  “He’s cheating on his wife with her sister.  He shares the brownies with his mistress, and sexy-times are suddenly not so sexy anymore.”

“What does laxative brownies have to do with anything?  How is that going to fix Mr. Sawyer?”  You stopped sorting again to look at him.

“It’s a prank.” He grinned.  “You know--a trick.”  You felt absolutely clueless.  “Trickster god?” Grasping at straws.  “Loki?”

“Oh--Tom Hiddleston.  Shit, that man is attractive.”  Seriously, you could spend hours just looking at that man.  Or listening to him talk.  Or just breathing in the same room.

“That man is  _not_ Loki.   _I_ am Loki.” He sounded almost offended.  You stared at him.  “Well, wouldn’t  you be offended if everyone found some person who played you in the movies more attractive than you?”  Fuck, again with the pouting.

“I would be elated that they found someone attractive to play me.  It’d be a lot more practical than getting someone to play me who actually looked like me.  My face would sell all of zero movie tickets.” You went back to work.

“I don’t know about  zero .  Maybe one or two.”  

“You are an asshole.”  He grinned and you could feel your blood pressure rising with your irritation.  You shoved the next item in it’s destined box rather forcefully.  Then, you purposefully avoided looking in his direction as you moved to another section of boxes.

He didn’t seem the least bit concerned by your attitude.  No, he just shrugged and grabbed a handful of letters out of one of the bins marked “Unsorted” and began leafing through them.  “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever had pass through here?”

“A jar of pigs’ feet.”  You sighed, feeling the fight leave you.  “No box, no bubble-wrap, just a jar of pickled pigs’ feet with a mailing label and postage slapped on it.  How it got this far...”   You turned around just in time to see him light a letter on fire with just the touch of his finger.  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”  You shrieked and ran over, snatching the letter from his hand and dropping it on the floor, stomping out the fire.  “I don’t--you can’t--what the--ugh!”  You couldn’t even figure out what you wanted to scream at him.  You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing.  “I need you to stop.  Just--stop.” You pointed at the only chair in the room.  “Go sit and don’t touch anything.”

“You think I have to listen to you?” You were ready to slap him.

“Making my life miserable isn’t going to get you back into heaven.” Instantly, his face soured.  “Now please, sit.  Leave me to my work.”

“Fine.”  You sighed in relief when he disappeared from in front of you, only to reappear, sitting in the chair.  Your apprehension kicked back up when you realized he was staring at you, with that stony expression still on his face.

“Stop.”  He didn’t.  It was unnerving as fuck.  “You’re supposed to be an angel, not a damned five-year-old.  Can’t you find something to amuse yourself with?”  You reached into  an “Unsorted” bin only to realize you’d grabbed something slimy.  “What the fuck?!” You yelped, dropping the frog back into the bin.  Your heart was ready to beat out of your chest.  “Damn it, Gabriel!”  You looked over to see him smirking at you.  “That was  not what I had in mind.”  You growled.

“I’m amused.” He shrugged, feigning innocence.  “You’re adorable when you’re scared.”  Oh, how you wanted to punch that face of his.  But wait--was that even his face?  “Made it myself, so I guess, technically, it is mine.”

“What do you mean, you made it?”  Taking advantage of his distraction, you went back to work.  “You said something about vessels before.”

“My brothers and sisters and I have to have vessels in order to be here on Earth.  If we walked around in our true forms, we’d be hurting people, left and right.”  You looked over, alarmed.  “Eyes burned out from looking at us, eardrums burst from hearing us talk, fun times.”  Was that what had happened to Kevin?  “No.  Kevin was...smited.”

“Oh.”  And now  you were in danger of having the very same thing happen to you.  All because  God had put your name on a list.  It made you more than a little angry, but you swallowed it down and focused on your work.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”  You heard him say after several minutes of silence.  “Prophets--they’re supposed to receive divine revelation.  Not to be hunted down by the very beings meant to protect them.”

“I thought angels were supposed to protect all people who believed, not just prophets.  ‘Ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation.’”  You weren’t sure where you’d pulled that from.  When he didn’t respond, you glanced over to find him still staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face.  “What?”

“You didn’t strike me as the religious type.”

“I’m not.  I mean, I never have been.  But then you show up--I guess I gotta believe what’s right in front of me.”  He nodded and you sighed.  “I guess that makes me a Doubting Thomas.”  You continued sorting mail.  “It’s kinda nice having you back here, when you’re not setting shit on fire or trying to poison people.”

“I still think you should let me send that package.  It’s not going to be traced back to you and it’s not like I’m going to kill them--which, I could.  I usually kill them.”  You tried to control the knee-jerk reaction of feeling horrified, but failed.  “Does that scare you?”

“You think I’m scared of you because you killed people?”  Well, OK, yes, you were.  This angel could rip you in half without even batting an eyelash.  “A little bit, yeah.  But where’s the compassion in killing someone over an affair?”

“Compassion is not really my thing.”

“I noticed.”  You scoffed, thinking back to earlier that morning and the fit he’d given you over breakfast.  “I don’t know--I just--I feel like we’re all stuck in this crazy existence.  Why shouldn’t we help each other?”

“Come here.”  Without any real reason, you obeyed.  He reached up towards your forehead with two fingers and you leaned away.  “I’m not going to kill you.  I just want to show you something.”  Still apprehensive, you allowed him to press his fingers to your skin.

Vertigo was not a feeling you’d experienced on a significant level before that moment.  Your knees threatened to buckle out from under you.  Gabriel’s fingers left your face and his hand dropped to your shoulder, steadying you.  After a minute or so, you were able to stand without his support.

“Where are we?”  You looked around to see that your surroundings had changed from that of the mailroom to a sidewalk with very heavy foot-traffic.  People were hurrying past you in both directions, some of them not even bothering to slow down when they bumped into you.  “Gabriel?”  He reached down and took your hand in his, pulling you out of the middle of the sidewalk and out of the way of all the pedestrians.  “Thanks.”

“You see that man over there?”  He pointed to a fairly attractive man in a business suit standing on the sidewalk across the street.  You stared at him or several moments and you noticed that he kept looking down at his watch and tapping his foot impatiently.  “His name is Toby Lynch.  Works in the bank building behind him.”  Your gaze traveled to the ornate building that towered over every building near it.  “He makes a six-figure salary.  Do you know what he does with that money?”  Of course you didn’t, and he knew that.  “Child pornography.  He’s got hard-drives full of it.”  He placed his fingers to your forehead before you had time to register his movements.

This trip wasn’t as dizzying as the first, but it still took you a bit to get your head back on straight.  You looked around to find yourself standing on the steps to a courthouse.  You turned to see Gabriel pointing and you looked back to see he’d been pointing towards the door at a woman in a suit exiting the building.  

“Janice Holmes.  She is an attorney.  She just won the case she’d been working on, defending a serial rapist.  Even with all the evidence and eyewitness testimonies, she got him cleared of all charges due to a technicality.  He’ll be going home tonight to begin planning his next attack.”  Again, his fingers touched your forehead.

In the course of what you assumed was about ten minutes, Gabriel transported you to three more places.  In each place, he’d point out a different person to you--a father who’d beheaded his daughter for talking to a boy, a woman who worked at a nursing home, lacing her patients’ medication with rat poison, and a man who was embezzling money from a charity organization that helped war refugees.

“What was the point of that?” You snapped, once you were back in the familiar surroundings of the mailroom.

“You really think any of those people are worthy of compassion?” He seemed genuinely interested in your answer.

“How is killing them going to solve anything?  There’s just going to be another person ready to take their place as soon as they’re gone.”  You looked down at the work you still hadn’t finished, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to get back to it.  Instead, you felt tears begin to slide down your cheeks--tears for the victims of each of the people he’d taken you to see.  

“So I should just let them live?  Let them keep doing what they’re doing?”  You turned to Gabriel in time to see his anger melt into pity at the sight of your tears.

“How is killing any of them going to fix the people they hurt?” You tried to keep your bottom lip from trembling.  “So the rapist and his attorney are dead.  His victims still have to live with what he did to them.  Is killing that woman going to unpoison her patients?  Will it bring that girl back if you kill her father?” He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.  “Aren’t  _they_ worthy of compassion?  Don’t _they_ deserve to be healed more than those fuckers deserve to die?  Shouldn’t _they_ be what’s important about all of those events?  You think killing that businessman is going to shut down the child pornography industry?  Keep other people from funding it?  Help the children who are victims of it?”  You angrily wiped your tears away on the back of your hand, not caring that your mascara went with the tears.  “I’m not saying they don’t deserve to be punished.  Every single one of them deserves your wrath.  But I just--don’t their victims deserve your help _more_?”

He didn’t answer you.  You felt stupid for expecting him to.  Without a word, you turned and walked out of the room, heading down the hall to the restroom.  It was empty, so you locked yourself in, crumpling against the wall and sliding to the floor.  You pulled your knees up to your chest and cried.  

Sobs wracked your body as you thought about the victims of each of the people Gabriel had shown you.  The children who had their innocence stolen from them.  The women who would lock themselves away out of fear.  The girl who would never see her thirteenth birthday.  The patients who endured a painful death and their families who lost loved ones before their time.  The people who would go without, after enduring what must be absolute hell.  You cried for each and every one of them and the countless number of others who would suffer a similar fate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone in the world is bad, right? Surely, there’s good in at least some of us. Maybe it’s time you point this out to the cynical archangel and give him a lesson on a little four-letter-word. Of course, even if that does manage to sink in, even a little, Gabriel will always be Gabriel.

“Sweetheart, are you OK in there?”  That was the voice of your co-worker, Shelly, from just outside the restroom door.  She must have heard you crying.  You scrambled to your feet and glanced in the mirror.  Fuck, you looked like shit.

“Yeah, give me just a minute.”  You called back, cringing when your voice cracked.  Quickly, you turned on the faucet and splashed water on your face.  You grabbed a paper towel and patted your face dry, hoping that she wouldn’t notice your still bloodshot eyes.  You threw the paper towel away and unlocked the door, swinging it open.

“Hey, hon.  Everything alright?”  You nodded.  “You know you’re an awful liar.”  She gave you a small smile and you bit your lip.  “You wanna talk about it?”  

It had always been like this between the two of you.  Probably because she was at least twenty years older than you.  She’d always made you feel like she thought of you as her daughter.  While you adored that about her, there was no way you could tell her about what had happened.  So you shook your head.  

“You’re not thinking of doing anything foolish, are you?”  The lightness had left her tone.  She’d once confided in you about how her older brother had gone through serious bouts of depression before finally ‘letting it win.’  This wasn’t a subject she took lightly, and it wasn’t something you had any intention of joking about.

“No.  I’m just realizing how insignificant I am in making a difference.”  That, at least, was the truth.  

“Nonsense, dear.”  She took your hand in hers and patted it gently.  “You’re all Chris can talk about today, since you brought that food in for him and Denise--who, coincidentally, also hasn’t shut up about you.”  This surprised you--both of them had taken the food you’d given them with a solemn ‘thanks’ but not much else.  You’d actually been a little afraid of wounding their pride by giving them all that.  Your surprise must have shown on your face.  “______, when you’ve got hungry babies at home, you swallow your pride for your kids’ sakes.”

“OK.”  She’d spoken with a voice of experience.

“But they  are grateful.”  She insisted.  “Knowing that you’re not alone, that the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders for even a little bit--it gives people hope.  And that hope can do marvelous things.”

“Thanks.”  Finally, you felt yourself smiling a little.

“Speaking of marvelous--Denise said you have a gentleman with you.”  You pressed your lips together.  Shelly might be the world’s greatest mother-figure, but that also seemed to come with an insatiable need for her to know about everyone’s life.  She didn’t gossip, thankfully, but she did have a tendency to be nosy.

“I have someone with me today, yes.”  She grinned..  

“Well, don’t just stand there, I wanna see him.”  You chuckled and allowed her to pull you down the hall and back to your workstation.  

“Gabriel?”  You didn’t see him right away.  Behind you, you heard what sounded suspiciously like wings.  You turned around and saw him looking rather embarrassed.  “Gabriel.”

“Oh, honey, you did good.”  Shelly nudged your side.  

“I didn’t ‘do’ anything.”  You were quick to point out.  She looked over, disapproval in her stare, causing you to sigh.  “Gabriel, Michelle Cabrera.  Shelly, this is Gabriel--”

“Driscoll.”  He jumped in.  You cocked your head to the side.  “______ has told me so much about you.”   _Driscoll--Irish surname--something about a messenger.  Gabriel the archangel was God’s messenger._  Your brain supplied you with an image of light shining down on a young woman in robes.  She’d been crying.  Instead of facing the light, she was forced to cower, covering her head with some sort of cloth to lessen the intensity.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the two people in front of you.  What the fuck had you just seen?  Your mind screamed _‘Mary’_ but that couldn’t be right.  Your visions had only happened at night, and they had always been of current events.  Clearly, what you’d just witnessed was a vision from long ago.

“______?  You OK?”  Both Shelly and Gabriel looked worried.

“Messenger.”  You winced--that wasn’t supposed to have come out.  Gabriel smiled in relief and gave you a slight nod.  “Sorry--didn’t sleep well last night.”  Shelly nodded, still looking concerned.  

“Do you need to go home?”  You shook your head, forcing a smile to your lips.  “Well, I was just telling Gabriel how nice it is to work with you.  You really are like a ray of sunshine around here.”  She winked at him.  Shit.  She was trying to hook you up with an archangel.  A demented one at that.  “Our own little angel.”  You bit your lips, trying to keep from laughing.

“She’s definitely one of a kind.”  He grinned and you felt blush rising to your cheeks.  Why the hell was he encouraging her?

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work, dear.”  Shelly raised your hand and patted it once again before releasing it.  “And Gabriel, feel free to come in with ______, anytime.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely be around.”  Shelly grinned before turning and continuing down the hall.  As you watched her go, you replayed your conversation with her in your mind.  One four-letter word stuck out.  _Hope_ _._  “She’s cute.”

“I need to show you something.”  You grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall in the opposite direction Shelly had gone.  You led him down another hallway until you got to a window that overlooked the loading bay.  “You see that man?”  You pointed at Chris as he hefted a crate from a dolly and loaded it into the back of a truck.  “That’s Chris.  I took part of the food to him.  He had his wife come and pick it up.  They have six children at home.  Chris works this job during the day and then works the night-shift at a gas station downtown.  Then he works at a lumber yard on the weekends.  His wife works for a cleaning service six days a week.  All just to keep their kids fed and clothed and to keep a roof over their heads.”  You didn’t give him a chance to respond before pulling him a little further down the hall to a doorway that led to a customer service desk.  You didn’t go into the space, you just pointed out the woman standing in it.  “Denise--she has one kid at home.  Her ex-husband left her and their kid with nothing.  She works here during the day, and nannies in the evening just to make ends meet.”  You stared at him and waited for him to look back at you before continuing.  “There’s a lot of shit in this world.  A lot of people who deserve whatever you could do to them.  And maybe the bad does outweigh the good.  But if you only punish the bad and never help the good, what kind of lesson does that teach?  Do whatever the fuck you want, just make sure you’re not bad enough to end up on Gabriel’s shit-list?”

“I get what you’re trying to say.  I do.”  He paused.  “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with you.”  _A room with tables set up in a ‘U’ shape covered in a white table-cloth.  Gabriel and another man circle around each other.  The other man is covered in open sores, his skin tinted a greyish-blue.  Gabriel is holding a weird looking sword._  *Angel Blade* _“A lot of them try.”_

“You did.”  What the hell was with all these visions of past events?  And how did you even know it was from the past?  “You did before.  You fought for us.  For humans”  He pressed his lips together.  “What changed your mind?”

“You shouldn’t be having visions of things that already happened.  That’s not how prophets work.”  He disregarded your question.  “I don’t know if this is something we need to be concerned about.”

“Gabriel--”

“You should get back to work before you get fired.”  He vanished.

“Damn it.”

_*****  
** ** _

You had about five minutes left before you could finally go home.  Gabriel still hadn’t shown his face since he’d vanished after you’d had a vision about him fighting for humanity.  You’d finished all of the day’s work, sorting and binding and bagging, waiting for him to just pop back in.  You decided after an hour or so after his disappearance that you wouldn’t worry until there was something to worry about.  You could still feel a weird connection to him, so at least you knew he was still keeping an eye on you, or whatever it was that angels did.  As for him--Gabriel was a fucking angel--he could handle himself.

“You ready to go home?”  You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice.  You spun around to find him staring at you, one corner of his mouth tugged upward. 

“Yes.”  You were suddenly livid.  He spent most of the morning fucking with your head only to leave the moment you try to talk to him.  If he was just going to disappear whenever you disagreed with him, he should just stay fucking invisible.  You opened your mouth to tell him that but closed it just as quickly when you thought better of it.  Instead, you grabbed your keys and your bag and headed for the exit, trying not to care whether he followed you out to your car or not.

“Night, ______.” You nodded to the night custodian as he was coming into the building.  You continued on until you got to your car, groaning when you realized Gabriel was already sitting in the passenger seat.

“Fuck.”  Briefly, you contemplated walking back to your apartment building.  You were already wiped from your earlier crying--but even if you hadn’t been, you’d never liked exercise and attempting a twenty-something-mile walk didn’t even sound close to your idea of fun.  Sighing in resignation, you walked over to your car and got in.  “Just so you know, I’m not happy with you right now.  And unless you’ve got some great reason for leaving me earlier, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”  

“That fight you saw me in--that was my brother.”  Oh.  “Lucifer was set on destroying humanity, to bring on the apocalypse, so I decided to try and stop him.”  He stared out the windshield, but you could tell he wasn’t looking at anything in particular.

“Well, you won, so--”

“He stabbed me with my own blade.” He continued as if you hadn’t spoken.  Right at that moment, you wished you hadn’t.  “I lost that fight.  I died on the floor of that conference room.”  That hadn’t been part of your vision.   _Died?  Then how the fuck--_ “Don’t know what brought me back.  Don’t know if it was Dad or what happened.  Suddenly, though, I was back.  I was an archangel again.  Those boys you’ve dreamed about--Sam and Dean--they stopped the apocalypse.  They saved the world.”  He sighed.  “And I hid.  I hid the first time because I hated the fighting between my brothers.  Having to watch them destroy each other--I had to leave.”

You closed your eyes for a moment.  Behind your eyelids, you could see images of a battlefield.  Everything was covered in blood and the burnt imprints of wings.  So much devastation.  Brothers and sisters killing each other.  And there was Gabriel--not in his vessel, but you knew it was him.  A bright golden-hued light that faded out with each death, until it disappeared completely.  He had grieved over each and every angel who had been killed, as well as each and every one that had chosen to fall.  Especially...

“After Lucifer--after he killed me, and I came back, I hid because I--I just couldn’t, anymore.  No one cared what I had given up in that damn hotel.  No one cared what I had lost.  Lucifer was my brother.” You closed your eyes, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall.  “I died trying to protect humanity.  I fought to save all you humans.  And for what?  So you could hurt each other?”  He looked over and met your gaze.  “I see how much pain and suffering you inflict on each other and I begin to feel like maybe Lucifer was right.  Maybe he should have just wiped the species off the map.  Maybe I should pick up where he left off.”  You swallowed, trying to tamp down your feelings of fear and sadness.  “But then I meet this stupid, naive little girl who has the guts to stand up to me and show me that some of you are worth caring about--I needed to think.  That’s why I left earlier.”  

You felt silly for being mad.  Actually, you felt pretty damn awful for being mad.  You could see why he felt the way he did.  After everything he’d done--you’d had no idea the extent of his sacrifices.  There should be more peo-ang-beings like Gabriel in the world.

“And?”  What conclusions had he come to with all his thinking?

“And I decided to show a little compassion to those who deserved it.”  He didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t care.  You smiled.  He finally looked at you, no smile, but you felt like maybe there was a little understanding that passed between the two of you.

“Thank you.”  You started your car and began to back out of your spot.

“You think there should be more of me running around?”  You looked over at him, puzzled.  “‘Cause I’m such an awesome guy-thing-whatever?”  He smirked.  In your rear-view mirror, something flashed.  You slammed on the brakes and turned to look behind you, finding another Gabriel sitting, staring at you with the same questioning smirk as the Gabriel on your right wore. Both of them wiggled their eyebrows at you.

“Oh, fuck no.”  You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with nightmares—or visions, as Gabriel referred to them. You didn’t know much about them, so when you were sucked into the hallucinations, feeling everything, you didn’t think much of it. Now, you just watched your friend die and you’re next. Maybe you should have been a little more worried.

So it went.  Prophet or not, you had a job to do.  Gabriel did his best to drive you absolutely nuts at work.  But he also kept making food for you to bring in, so you did your best to let his juvenile pranks slide.  And like he said--Mr. Sawyer couldn’t trace the laxative brownies back to you, and nobody was dying, so what harm would it do?

There is a man wearing a tan-colored trenchcoat.  You’ve never seen him before, but something about him feels...well...off.  He’s standing next to a shorter man in a black suit.  He has that same vibe as the other man, only darker, more sinister.  With the two men is Dean Winchester.  You recognize him from your visions.  The three of them are standing in what looks to be some sort of cellar or dungeon or something, looking at what you decide is some kind of chair.

The shortest man--the one in all black, begins saying something you can’t really understand.  He reaches for a long, thin rod from the surgical table next to him.  Your vision jumps, and you can see Sam Winchester strapped down to the chair.  There are things sticking to his forehead and--oh, fuck.  They aren’t sticking to his forehead, but rather, out from his forehead.  You watch in horror as the man takes the rod and forces it into Sam’s temple.  It slides into his skin, and then deeper still, into his brain.  

A burning sensation pierces your skull and it feels as though something is pushing its way into your head.  The sensation of being engulfed in flames consumes your entire body and you can feel the rod sliding into your own brain.  A scream erupts from your lungs at the same time Sam cried out in pain...

“______!” You bolted up to sitting as Gabriel pulled you out of your vision. “Hey--hey. You’re OK. Just breathe.” You didn’t want to breathe. You wanted to unsee that whole ordeal. Just thinking about shoving anything into your temple made you ill, but you’d actually felt that rod--

You leaned over the side of your bed and promptly lost everything that had been in your stomach. Surprisingly, Gabriel just sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back through your heaves. Once your stomach was empty, you were finally able to relax slightly, flopping back onto the pillows.

“Sam--they’ve got Sam.” You closed your eyes, but all you could see and feel was that rod sliding--your eyes snapped open. “It’s not Sam. He’s--not human.” Of course he couldn’t have been human and still survive what they were doing to him. “Gadreel.”

“Who’s got Gadreel?” Your eyes darted around your room. Something was wrong. You just couldn’t seem to figure out what was off.  Why had you felt that?  Since when did you become a part of the vision?  “______. Who has Gadreel?” Gabriel leaned forward, his face just a few inches from yours, forcing you to look at him.

“Dean and two other men.” You whimpered. “There’s one in a trenchcoat and one of them has a European accent.”  With rods and blood and a chair to strap people to.

“The one in the trenchcoat--he a white guy with blue eyes and brown hair?” You nodded slowly, your head feeling like it was going to roll off if you moved it much more. “That’s my brother, Castiel.”  So, an angel as well.  That must have been why he felt off.  Like Gadreel and that other man.  “The guy with the accent must be Crowley.” He spat out the name like it had a bad taste. “Crowley’s a demon.”

“A  demon?  There’s an  angel and a  demon working together?”  How did something like that happen?  Were the demons going to be coming after you, too?  Were you going to be strapped down and actually have something shoved into your brain instead of just experiencing sympathy pains or whatever you’d gone through?  Was that why this one affected you so physically?  You felt like you were going to be sick again.

“Hey, I’ve got you. It’s OK.” You barely registered that his hands were on your shoulders. “Breathe, sweetheart.” You whimpered again, drawing a sigh from him. “Hang on.” He raised one hand and snapped, cleaning up the mess you’d just made on the floor next to your bed and taking the nasty taste out of your mouth--both of which, you were grateful for. “Better?”  You shook your head.  You appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t really quell your fear.  Angels and demons could show up any second to kill you.

“Fuck, my life is a Dan Brown novel.”  You lifted your hands to cover your face just as he laughed.  “It’s not funny.” You felt a laugh bubble up from your own throat as you thought about what you’d said.  “Shut up.”  

Better to laugh than to worry unnecessarily.  Maybe that was just how visions went.  Your eyes  had  burned for hours after that vision with Kevin--you’d attributed it to waking up in tears.  Maybe when you saw someone in pain in your visions, you were just going to feel it too.  It could be worse.  At least you weren’t the one actually experiencing the pain, first-hand.

“I’m not letting you die.”  He said finally.  “You’re stuck with me for a long time, sugar-bear.”  He smiled, but you could still detect concern in his eyes.

“I honestly don’t know if that’s better or worse.”  You said, ignoring his worry.  You let your hands fall to your side.  

“You OK?”

“Yeah.”  You forced a smile to your face.  “Thanks.”

****  
  
  


You finally reached the bottom of the first bin of the day when you decided you’d earned yourself a little break.  Not long--just five minutes of relief from staring at envelopes and mailboxes.  “I’m heading outside for bit.  You coming?”  Gabriel shrugged and followed you out of the building.  “Does it ever strike you as a bit odd--you being the guardian of me?”  You made sure you were alone before asking, leaning against the brick wall and reveling in the slight breeze.

“How so?”  

“I work in a mailroom.  You’re God’s messenger.  That ever seem strange to you?”  He laughed and you smiled.

“Just means it’s destiny.”  You rolled your eyes but didn’t lose your smile as he wiggled his eyebrows.

The door you’d exited from opens, and an older man steps out.  He begins to approach you and Gabriel, but the angel doesn’t turn around.  In the man’s hand, he is carrying a weird looking thing--it almost looks like a tree branch or something, but there are teeth on one side of it.  The man wastes no time as he thrusts the branch--no--blade into Gabriel’s back.

You open your mouth to scream, to cry, to yell--something, but no sound escapes you.  Gabriel’s golden eyes flash blue before his vessel drops to the ground as the man yanks the blade--First Blade--from his back, a look of pained-surprise frozen on his face.  But no, he couldn’t be--he’d told you before that only an Archangel Blade could kill him!  That stupid SOB promised you he wouldn’t die.  He was just starting to grow on you, and now...

You look back to the man, except, it’s now Dean Winchester.  His eyes are pitch black as he lunges for you.  The wall behind you allows you no way out and you are pinned between it and Dean.  You slide down the wall, bringing your knees up to your stomach and your arms up to cover your head.  He doesn’t stab you like you had assumed.  Instead, he begins to slice into your arms and legs.  Nothing deep enough to remove your limbs, but enough to slash through your skin and into the muscle and tissue underneath.  The emotions you'd had about the angel laying dead, just inches away from you against asphalt marred by blood and burnt wings, is taken over by the pain you feel every time the blade finds a new part of you to sink into.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear was never something you’d had to live with on a constant basis before Gabriel showed up. Even your crazy ex was tame compared to what you’re dealing with now. Is there anyplace where you could feel safe?

“______!” Gabriel’s voice finally broke through your screams.  You’d been screaming?  You jolted—Gabriel was dead.  You watched his eyes and the man with the blade and then Dean Winchester…

“Gabriel!”  You pushed up from the ground and launched yourself at the angel who was crouched in front of you.  His angelic powers were the only thing that kept you two vertical with the force of your embrace.  Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and you gripped the back of his shirt tight in your fists.  He was alive!  You couldn’t remember the last time you had ever been so grateful for something.  You began to shake with the relief that flooded your body.

“Hey,” his voice was soothing, as was the hand he was rubbing your back with.  “Everything’s OK.  I’ve got you.”  Your trembling subsided after several moments.  You were finally able to release your grip on his shirt, but you didn’t pull out of his arms.  “You alright, cupcake?”  You shook your head against his chest, and he kissed the top of your head.

It was a vision.  That’s all it had been.  But it had felt so real.  That pain, all of it, you’d felt that.  Not just second-hand shit.  That was your friend you’d watched die, that was your body that was being hacked into.  Did that mean it was about to happen?  Were you minutes away from experiencing that again, only, this time, you wouldn’t be able to snap out of it?

“Gabriel,”  You pulled away just enough that you could look into his eyes.  “First Blade.” You felt him tense instantly.  “A man with the First Blade just killed you.  Your eyes lit up and there were wing marks on the ground.”  His eyes lit up again, but this time, there was fire behind them.  “But then, it was Dean Winchester.  He had the Blade.  He was going to kill me, too.”

“Shit.”

“He was cutting into me, my arms, my legs…” You looked down at your arms and were honestly surprised to see them free of any lacerations.  They’d all felt so fucking real.  The phantom pain was subsiding and the only physical pain you still felt was your knees against the asphalt and your back from where you’d actually slid down the brick wall believing your vision was real.  “I’m OK.” You whispered in disbelief.

“I need to get you home.”  

Fuck—you were still at work.  You looked around to see a few of your coworkers.  They looked as if they were running, or rather, had been running, towards you but were stuck.  Frozen in air or something.  You looked back at Gabriel in confusion.

“Stopped time here for a minute when you started screaming.”  Damn, what a sight you must have been, screaming and curling in on yourself, trying to get away from something that wasn’t actually there.  He shrugged, rising to his feet and pulling you with him.  “Didn’t want them to get hurt if they got in the way.”  That actually made you pause for a second.  Gabriel was looking out for the well-being of humans?  Under normal circumstances, it would have made you smile.  Given your vision, it only drove home the fact that you were putting these people in danger just by coming to work everyday.

You pulled away from each other, but he kept an arm around your shoulders, sensing your need of physical contact to ensure your still rattled brain that he was, indeed, alive.  He snapped his fingers and all of your coworkers were moving once again.  Only, they came to a stop when they saw you on your feet.

“I’m OK.”  You assured them.  “I just need to go home, I think.”  They looked extremely puzzled but didn’t say anything as Gabriel began to lead you back to the door.  “Can—can we go in a different way?”  He looked at you, concern evident.  Instead of saying anything, though, he nodded and the two of you started walking around to the front of the building.

**  
  
**

Once you checked out with your supervisor, you let Gabriel transport you and your car back to your apartment complex, dizziness the least of your worries.  You really didn’t even care if anyone spotted you.  Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Gabriel lying motionless on the ground and sinister black eyes.  This hadn’t been you experiencing someone else’s pain.  This vision was of a direct attack on you and the archangel.

“I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”  Gabriel said as soon as the door to your apartment closed behind you.  The arm he’d kept around your shoulders dropped.  You stiffened, so instead, he took your hand in his.

“It was real.”  You shook your head to clear your thoughts.  “It was so real.  Before, I felt what Kevin and then Gadreel and Sam felt.  This…” You looked up at him, tears forming.  “You died.  And then I felt that blade.  I felt it cut my skin.  I felt the blood and all of it…Gabriel,” you choked, desperately clinging to some sort of composure, “Did I just see how we die?”

“No.” It didn’t sound like a lie, but it definitely felt like one.  “______, no.”

“How do you know?” One tear after another began to fall down your cheeks.

“Because the First Blade is no match for an Angel Blade.”  The ease with which he was answering your questions made you angry.  This had been fucking traumatizing.  It might have been no big deal to him, but it was to you, and the least he could do was act like it.

“You. Died.”  What about that was not sinking in?  “Angel Blade or not, he killed you.  I had to watch your eyes light up and then go dark.”  You sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, trying to calm yourself.  “And your wings—it was just like in that conference room.”  He inhaled sharply, obviously caught off-guard by the comparison.  “Can the First Blade kill you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gabriel—.”

“I seriously do not know.” He snapped before thinking better of his anger.  He must have realized that you wouldn’t handle it well in your current mindset.  “Can it kill a human?  Yes.  Demon?  Yes.  Knight of Hell?  Yes.  But an angel?”  He closed his eyes.  “Best guess?” His eyes opened again.  “Probably.  The blade works in tandem with the Mark of Cain.”

“The Mark of—” You felt ill—even more than before.  The Mark of Cain?  The first murderer?  Except—no.  Lucifer gave him the mark.  But he still killed his brother, right?  Fuck, this was confusing.

Seeing you pale, Gabriel gently led you to the couch so that you both could sit.  Your legs felt like dead weight, but finally, you were able to collapse onto the couch.  He waited for your breathing to calm before he continued explaining.

“The Mark of Cain.  My brother, Lucifer, marked Cain when he traded his soul for his brother.”  Boy, the Bible got that so wrong.  “Indeed it did.  Without the mark, the blade is just a jawbone.  And without the blade, the mark is just a mark.”

“But if Cain has the mark—how was Dean able to use the blade?  Cain’s dead.  How—”

“Cain’s not dead.”  What?  “Well, in the traditional sense, yes, but he’s a demon.  More specifically, he’s a Knight of Hell.”

“What the fuck is a Knight of Hell?”

“It’s an order of demons—they’re like demons on PCP.  They’re stronger, they can withstand more, and they can only be killed by either an Archangel Blade or the First Blade.”  Demons on PCP.  Yep, you were so fucked.  “Cain was the first, and he trained the rest of them.  Then he killed them, except for Abaddon.  Sneaky little thing managed to get away.  From what I can tell, though, Abaddon is back, looking to take over Hell, and is just generally having fun causing as much destruction as she can.”

“So angels who think they’re God, other angels, demons, and supercharged demons—all of them may or may not know I exist, but all of them will want to kill me should they find out?”  He nodded. 

The only thing that was standing between you and certain death was Gabriel.  The angel you’d just watched die at your feet.  Not very comforting.

“But you think this First Blade thing could kill you?”

“Angels, probably.  Me, I’m not so sure.  Lucifer was an archangel.  I highly doubt he’d give any of you ‘flawed abortions’ something with the power to kill him.”

“‘Flawed’ what?” You yanked your hand out of his.  Did he say what you thought he’d said?  After everything, he was still going to refer to humans like that in front of you?  He wanted to start that shit after what you’d just gone through?

“No—that’s what Lucifer referred to humans as.”  He clarified.

“Oh.”  You shook your head, hoping to gain some clarity.  None of this was making sense.  Why the vision if it couldn’t come true?  “If the blade can’t kill you, why did you die in my vision?”  He shrugged.  That was not the answer you were looking for.  “Gabriel,” just once, you wanted him to understand what you were feeling without having to beat it into his thick skull, “I can’t watch you die.”  Tears started falling.  “I can’t go through that again.”  Sighing, he pulled you into his arms.  

“You’re not going to.”  He rested his cheek on the top of your head.  “I’m going to keep you safe and protected and hidden.”  He held you for several moments until you were able to calm yourself a bit.  “You said your vision was of a man and then Dean, right?”  You nodded against his chest.  “I’m thinking Dean’s going after Cain to get the mark and the blade so he can try to take down Abaddon.”  Several more minutes passed before either of you spoke.

“I have to quit my job.”  You mumbled into his shirt.  You felt him sigh again, but he didn’t contradict you.  “You can’t keep me hidden and protect all those people I work with if someone does come after me.”

“Sure I can.”  You leaned back to look up at his face, your facial expression telling him you clearly didn’t believe him.  “I can try.”  He offered a hopeful half-smile, but it really didn’t quell your fear.

“It’s not worth the risk.”  You pulled out of his embrace, suddenly uncomfortable with your own emotional display.  Now was not the time for tears.  You had too much shit to do, too many decisions to make.  “I’m just—not sure what I’m going to do.  I make enough to pay my bills.  I don’t have much in savings.  I can’t go back to my parents’ place.”  Right—let’s protect everyone at work, but put your parents in danger by hiding out at their place.  So not going to happen.

“Everything will be fine.”  He assured you.  “You have an archangel on your shoulder.”  His smile was meant to disarm you, but it only made you more nervous when you recognized the worry in his eyes.  “Look, if you’re quitting your job, then you won’t need this apartment, because I can take you somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

“It’s a place I know—pretty secluded.  You don’t find it unless you know what you’re looking for.  And I’m the only one who knows what to look for.”

“It’s not that—that bunker place, right?”  There was no way you could be anywhere near that Dean guy right now.  Not until your brain completely registered that what you saw had only been a vision.  Maybe not even then.  Not only was he working with angels and demons—two beings who were looking to kill you, but apparently, he was also going to Hulk himself up with the Mark of Cain and the First Blade.

“No.”  He shook his head.  “It’s a lot more remote than that place.”  He frowned at how anxious and jumpy you still seemed.  “Look, why don’t you go ahead and call your work, let them know you’re quitting?” You nodded.  “Then you can decide what you’re taking.  We’ll worry about getting there once all that is done.”  Everything he was saying made perfect sense.  Still, there was a question you needed answered.

“Why didn’t you just take me there to begin with?”  Even if he had, it’s not like it would have changed anything.  Or would it?  Fuck, you were getting a headache.

“I don’t know.”  That, you knew, was a lie.  His gaze had dropped from your eyes for just a moment—unable to look at you directly as he voiced the words.

“Gabriel.”

“Drop it, ______.”  He looked back up at you, imploring you to just let it go.

“Please?”

“I didn’t—” He growled softly.  “I had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary.  Being a prophet is hard enough.  Throw in having angel-security tailing you twenty-four-seven, harder still.  I hoped that you’d be able to keep at least part of your normal life.”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “Guess that ain’t happening, sweetheart.”  He tried for a cocky grin, but it fell flat.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you don’t care.  Stop acting like you’re not afraid of what might happen.  Yeah, I know you’re an archangel and blah blah blah, all that crap.”  He frowned, but still, you pressed on.  “If there’s something I need to know, something I need to be concerned about, you need to tell me.”

“Why?  It’s my job to protect you.”  You sighed.

“I get that.  But I can help!”  He scoffed.  “I know I don’t know anything about fighting off angels and demons or anything else.  But,” was there anything you actually could contribute? “Oh, for fucks’ sake, at least pretend to let me be helpful!”  He cocked an eyebrow.  “Don’t look at me like I’m stupid.”

“You’re not—OK, yeah, you’re being kinda stupid.”  He admitted with a shrug.  “Honestly, the best thing you can do right now is just trust me.  If you trust me and do what I tell you to, it’ll be easier, keeping you safe.”

“Gabriel—”

“Yeah, I know.  You never do what I tell you to.”  Finally, you smiled.  

“I do trust you.  Sort of.”  He rolled his eyes, but smiled back.  

“Let’s get you somewhere safe before we do anything else, OK?”  You sighed and dug in your pocket for your cell phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel had just gotten through telling you that you were being stupid. That’s putting it mildly.

Stupid.

You were so freaking stupid.  Gabriel was right, and you were completely stupid.

How else would you have wound up being held by Metatron?

******.  
** ** **

You’d made your call into work, explaining to your supervisor that you were quitting.  She’d tried to get you to reconsider, but you knew you couldn’t.  Almost immediately after that conversation ended, your phone was buzzing—Shelly was calling you.  She couldn’t understand—she’d just seen you that morning!  You hadn’t expressed any hint about leaving your job.  What the hell happened?

It was the concern in her voice that got to you.  That gentle, mothering tone that made you agree to meet with her for a few minutes.  So you had.  Left without telling Gabriel where you were going—or that you were even going.  It wasn’t done maliciously, or because you didn’t trust him.  It was just—he’d probably want to tag along, and you just knew Shelly would perceive his presence as why you were quitting.  She’d think that Gabriel was your controlling boyfriend or something—why else would he have followed you in to work or have you quit or follow you to meet with a friend?

You spent the time with Shelly convincing her that you were leaving to go see your parents.  You told her you missed them—that they were getting on in years, and you wanted to spend time with them, so you were moving closer to home.  It was fairly obvious she didn’t believe what you were saying.

******.  
** ** **

“______, I just don’t get—why all of a sudden?  You seemed fine this morning and then you have that massive panic attack at work…did something happen to them?”

“No, I just—” Your vision blurred and all the ambient noises of the coffee shop were gone.

******.  
** ** **

“______, where the hell are you?”  

_Gabriel?_  You weren’t sure how, but somehow, you knew to respond to him mentally.  Must be a prophet thing or something.

“That’s right, idiot.  You’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

_I’m with Shelly.  She just wanted to talk before we left._

“You moron!  Why didn’t you take me with you?  Where the hell are you?”

_Relax, Gabriel.  I’ll be back in ten._

“Relax?  You want me to relax when you have the hordes of heaven _and_ hell on your ass and I’m supposed to keep you safe?”

_Look, I didn’t want you to come because I didn’t want Shelly to worry.  Just a few more minutes and I’ll be out of here._

“Now, ______.  Not in a few minutes—tell me where you are, now.  I’m coming to get you.”

_Gabriel—_

******.  
** ** **

“Just what, dear?”  Shelly’s voice broke your mental connection with Gabriel.

You blinked, trying to sort out what just happened.  “Just…uh…I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, Shelly.”

“Excuse me, ______?”  Both you and Shelly turned to see a man approaching your table.

Only, this wasn’t a man.

_Strange lights.  Earth.  Love.  Deception.  Snake.  Apple.  Pain.  So much pain.  Misery.  Bars—no, prison cell.  Insults and torture.  Abandonment.  Heavy burden.  Shame.  Drowning in the shame and guilt._

Fuck.  Gadreel.  He wasn’t wearing Sam Winchester any more, but this was definitely him.

Before you even had time to think of calling for Gabriel, two fingers pressed against your forehead.  The coffee shop, Shelly—all of it was gone.

Instead, you were now standing in the middle of a plush looking office.  And you were in chains.  In front of you, sitting behind an ornate desk and a typewriter, sat a harmless looking old man.

_Scribe.  Scribe of God.  Scribe of God.  Scribe of God._

“I believe you’ll find I have a different title these days, my dear.”

Your fear ran rampant.  “Huh?”  You couldn’t hear how pathetic your own voice sounded, what with the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears.

This wasn’t just some vision you could shirk off or tamp down.  There would be no putting on a happy face and muddling through.  You were about to die.  Plain and simple.  Death was staring at you with a smile and a cardigan.

“Oh, please, ______.  Death doesn’t have nearly the charm that I do.”  Metatron sighed.  Still, his creepy smile stayed.  “My smile isn’t creepy.”

Someone beside you gave a small cough in disagreement.  You turned your head to see Gadreel, still in the same form that had approached you in the coffee shop.

“What did you do to Shelly?”

“Your friend is fine, ______.”  The sour look never left Gadreel’s face.

“It’s you who you should be worried about.”  You turned back to Metatron, who was now standing and circling around the desk.  “You are, after all, the final prophet.”

“Final?”

“Why yes, my dear.  You see, after I had Gadreel here…take care of the prophet before you, I found this neat little switch that…turned off the prophet list, so to speak.”  He leaned against the front of the desk, his hands folded in front of him, still smiling.  “I hadn’t realized that I hadn’t flipped it in time.  It wasn’t until time stopped in a certain area of the world that I did a little digging and found I’d been too late.”  His smile faded and your fear spiked even more.  “You weren’t supposed to exist—not as a prophet.  But, that is an easy fix.”

His smile returned—only this time, much more menacing.  He started towards you, his hand outstretched.  You tried to shrink back, but Gadreel’s firm hand on your shoulder kept you still.  

This was it.  No goodbyes, no family and friends nearby.  Nothing.  Just alone and afraid while a deranged angel-god ended you, leaving a burnt out body on the floor.  

As you watched his hand get closer to your face, you thought of that first vision you’d had of Kevin.  How he’d never seen it coming.  Would it have been better that way?  Not knowing that you were about to die?

You squeezed your eyes shut.   _I’m so sorry, Gabriel.  I’m so sorry for being so fucking stupid._

Metatron’s hand was an inch or so from your skin.  You could feel the heat coming from it.  “Gabriel?  The archangel Gabriel lives?”  You opened your eyes to see him looking at Gadreel.

“He was not there when I found her.”

Fuck.  Fucking fuck.

“It makes sense, though.  How else could she have remained shielded from me for so long?”

“What?  What are you talking about?”  You tried to erase Gabriel from your mind completely, but your heart sank at the idea of unwittingly having just sold out your best friend.

“Don’t try to hide it from me, ______.  I know what you’re thinking.”

“Please—just,” You swallowed hard, tears forming in your eyes.  “Please don’t.  He’s going into hiding.  He’s not going to get in your way.  Just—leave him alone.”  

Metatron just grinned.

You yanked at the chains that were binding your wrists, wanting nothing more than to strangle the angel in front of you.  You took a deep breath to clear your thoughts so you could focus on coming up with some sort of plan.  Or you tried to.  The air wouldn’t flow into your lungs.  Like something was blocking your throat.

_Don’t panic!_

Yeah, right.  That was what you remembered hearing on some survival show—that if you panic, you run out of oxygen faster.  Of course, that advice had been given while the speaker had no risk of dying from asphyxia.

Little black dots began to swim in your vision.  You started to feel lightheaded…this had to be at least a half a minute with no air.  How long could you survive like this?

You reached up to your neck, but nothing was there.  What the hell was happening?

“You’d do well to remember your place, _prophet_.”  Metatron spit the word out like a bad taste.  “You may be able to read the Word, but I…oh, it is I who _wrote_ the Word.”

And just like that, you were able to gasp in oxygen.

“Now, where is Gabriel?”

You took several moments to catch your breath before glaring at him.  “Go fuck yourself.”  You’d already done enough damage—your thoughts had given away that Gabriel had been helping you.  You weren’t about to tell anyone, especially this asshat, where he was.

“I can make you talk.”

“Bite me, angel boy.”  You were thrown through the air, landing hard against the wall.

“Tell me, and I’ll end you quickly.”  Once again, the creeptastic smile was back.  “Refuse, and you will be begging me to kill you.”

“Do your worst.”

“You see, Gadreel, humans are so funny.  They think they can withstand torture.  They all have this notion that they would be able to bear it.  And yet, none of them actually can.  They all break in the end.”

You saw a look of…something…pass over Gadreel’s face.  It wasn’t guilt—it looked something like regret.  But it left just as quickly as it appeared and he nodded.

“Lock her up.  I’ll deal with her later.”

******.  
** ** **

You should have just left with Gabriel.  Not even bothered to call in and quit.  If you had, you’d be in his secret little hideaway instead of a prison cell.

But no.  You had to go and be stupid.  And reckless.  And… _human_?

You shook your head to clear your thoughts.  There was no point in feeling sorry for yourself.  It wasn’t going to get you anywhere.  Nothing was going to get you anywhere.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron’s deal is pretty simple. Give up Gabriel’s location and he’ll make your death a quick one. Protect Gabriel…and, well, he’d be more than happy to prove he could be a wrathful god.

“Ah ah ah.”  

You jerked awake, expecting to see Gabriel doing something stupid—something you’d probably yell at him for.  Instead, you were greeted by the sight of Metatron’s face and that creepy smile of his.

“You don’t get to sleep while you’re in here.”

“So this is your idea of torture?  Sleep deprivation?”

“Among…other things.”  He stepped further into your cell.  Instinctively, you scrambled back from him.  “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make a break for it.”  He nodded back towards the door.  

“What?  So you can just inflict something even worse on me?” You scoffed.  “I figure you’ll be doing enough torture..why add to it?”

“See, now you’re using your head.  Good girl.”

Anger flared inside of you, but you fought to control it.  His ‘good girl’ comment was meant to remind you of your place to him.  Apparently, you weren’t even human—praises for a dog would be the only thing fit for you.

“You actually going to start hurting me, or is your idea to rob me of sleep and food?”  For three days (at least, you’d figured it had to have been about three days), you’d received no food and not been allowed to sleep.  

It was weird—this place you were being held in.  There was no bathroom, and yet, you hadn’t needed to go.  You hadn’t gotten food, but you also hadn’t been hungry, or thirsty.  The only thing you had felt was tiredness.  Just an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. 

Something about this place must be affecting your human physiology.  

“I take it, your accommodations haven’t been to your liking,” he mocked.  “______, where is Gabriel?”

“You’re supposed to be God.   _You_ figure it out.”

“You think this is a game?”  

You were slammed back against the wall of your cell.  Ever so slowly, you felt yourself being moved up the wall.  Your head hit the ceiling, but then your body folded on it’s own so that you were now pressed against it.  Heights weren’t huge on your list of things to fear, but looking down at the floor while being held against the ceiling was definitely bumping it up the list.

_You could see a man—husband—herding a small child and a baby out of the room.  A sharp pain pierced your abdomen as flames erupted from ceiling around you.  You could feel the heat as the fire engulfed you.  The man ran back in only to be forced out as the fire spread._

_“MARY!”_

“Winchester.” The moment the word left your mouth, you were slammed into the floor.  You must have been in shock because the pain didn’t register for a full minute.  When it did, a scream forced its way out of your lungs.

“What are you seeing?”

You could barely hear Metatron over the throbbing of…well, everything.  In fact, the throbbing was the only indication you had that you were even still alive.

“What are you seeing?”  

Your head was yanked up from the ground by your hair, leaving a patch of red on the ground from where it had leaked out of your now broken nose.

_Bartholomew has Castiel._

_A fight-Angel Blades.  Bartholomew dies.  Castiel killed him.  Just like he killed the other angels—no.  Self defense.  Leader.  They need a leader.  Castiel._

The hand in your hair tightened its grip.  “You will tell me what I want to know, ______.”

_Crossroad demon.  Dean Winchester.  Sammy.  Where’s Sammy?  Need Sammy.  Bring him back.  Ten years?  One year.  Kiss._

You couldn’t make sense of any of this.  Everything hurt so badly.

“I will break you.” Metatron’s voice broke through to your brain.

“Where’s Sammy?” You managed to get out.  You sucked in a lungful of air and blood, just to feel a sharp jab in your chest.  Broken ribs to go along with your nose.  “Please—he’s my brother.  I need my brother.”

“Fine.  Lay there and drown in your own blood.  I have more important things to do.”  Metatron released your hair and you were helpless to stop your head from hitting the ground once more.

Thankfully, darkness consumed you.

****.****  
.  


When consciousness took hold of you again, you woke to find yourself still lying in a pool of, now crusted, blood.  You weren’t sure how much time had passed.  The only thing you were aware of was that everything still hurt.

“______?”

You’d heard that voice before.  But where?

“______?”

“Who—?” That was all you managed.  It hurt too much.

“It’s me—Kevin.”

_Kevin?  But he’s dead._

“Yeah, I know I’m dead, ______.  No thanks to your archangel, here.”

“Not—not his fault.  Meta—tron.”

“Think it, ______, don’t worry about saying it.  We’ve worked out a way for you to link with me mentally.”

_We?_

“Yeah, me and your archangel.”

_Your archangel, too._

“Really?  Then just where was he when Gadreel was toasting me?”

_He didn’t know.  Don’t blame him.  Didn’t realize angels would be a threat to you.  Please don’t blame him._

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time.  Gabriel needs to know where you are.”

_No.  Tell him to stay away.  Metatron’s looking for him.  I didn’t mean for him to find out.  He read my thoughts._

“Shit.”

_Gadreel found me.  Is Shelly really OK?_

“Gabriel says to stop acting like a fucking martyr.  Shelly’s fine.  Where are you?”

_NO!_

Before Kevin could respond, you felt yourself being pulled up from the ground.  Metatron forced you to your feet.  You started to wobble, but he kept you vertical.

“Where is Gabriel?”

“Go…fuck yourself.”  You doubled over as blood forced its way up your throat and out of your mouth.  You gagged and vomited more of it on the ground at Metatron’s feet.

“There’s only so much blood you can lose before you die, ______.  Where is Gabriel?”

You opened your mouth to respond when a fresh wave of nausea hit you and more blood spewed from your mouth.  You dropped to your knees, still clutching your stomach.

_Rejoice!  The righteous man has broken!_

_Gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

“I’m growing bored with this, ______.”  In a haze, you looked up to see Metatron standing over you.  “You tell me where the archangel is and I can end this now.”

“No.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  “It really is almost adorable how protective you are of him.  You think an angel cares about you?  You think he wouldn’t have sold you out by now?  He _let_ Kevin die.  What does _your_ life matter to him?”

“No.”  You collapsed onto the floor, your face falling right into your own blood.  You coughed and tried to turn your head to keep from inhaling it when a hand held you down.  Once again, Metatron was keeping you from much needed oxygen, only this time, he was going to try and drown you.

“I will break you, ______.”  You struggled to push yourself back up, but his hold was too strong for your weakened and broken body.  “Where is Gabriel?”

Consciousness began to slip away as you gave up your fight for breath.

“Fight it!” That was Kevin’s voice again.  “You fight that bastard, ______!  Do not let him win.”

_Can’t.  Hurts._

“Where are you?  ______.  Where the hell are you?”

And everything faded.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron was supposed to be an angel. On the side of good, offering comfort. All that. You’re learning quickly that too much power can corrupt even an angel. And he’s only just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I added warnings to this fic. It's because of this chapter. I know there are other, far more graphic fics out there, but I would like to avoid triggering anyone. This part is more graphic than the last part and includes psychological torture—this involves implying potential rape—as well as physical, so please don’t read this if this bothers you.

**Please read the note at the beginning BEFORE reading this.**

 

 

When you came to, Metatron was standing over you.  In his hand he held a blade—Angel Blade.  Instead of attempting to move away from him, you simply laid your head back down on the ground.  The blood had dried, so you weren’t too concerned with the prospect of drowning, but you rested on your cheek, just in case.

“Giving up already?”

You didn’t respond.  Instead, you just tried to focus on your breathing.  Block everything else out and focus on your breathing.  Don’t think about how much everything hurts.  Don’t think about how you can still taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.  Don’t think about how raw your throat felt from throwing up and how it was painful to even suck in air.  Just in and out.  Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out.  He can’t hurt you if you refuse to let him.

“Oh, ______—you can’t hide from me.”  You felt the point of the blade dragging along the skin of your arm.  “If you tell me where the archangel is, I will end this.”

Your only response was silence.   _Just breathe._

“Fine.”  And just like that, your focus was broken.

You hadn’t thought you’d have it in you to scream.  But scream you did when his blade was jammed into your palm.  You tried to jerk your hand away, but that only caused the blade to be pushed further into your hand.

“Gabriel’s location, ______.  Now.”

Instead of answering, you coughed up more blood as pain blossomed in your stomach.

“I can end this now.  All you need to do is tell me where Gabriel is.”

_Red hair.  Red lipstick.  Red like blood.  Like death.  Men of Letters?  Abaddon.  Souls.  Taking all the souls.  Create an army.  Soulless killing.  Anger.  More death and destruction.  Henry—Henry Winchester?  Running.  Trying to live._

_Man in a black suit—Crowley.  With Dean Winchester.  Dean Winchester—holding the First Blade.  Going after Abaddon.  Black eyes.  Dean…black eyes._

“Abaddon,” you mumbled.

“What was that, ______?”  Metatron yanked the blade from your hand and dragged it up your arm.  “Speak up.”

You tried to curl in on yourself as he sliced the blade against your arm.  He stopped you from moving by placing his foot on your back, right between your shoulders.

_Dean Winchester, eyes black as coal.  Black eyes. And…God?  No.  Not God.  Metatron.  First Blade flung to the side and…Angel Tablet on the ground, in pieces.  Broken.  Metatron in chains._

Despite the pain that had taken over, you started laughing.  It began as a chuckle that built up in your throat and left your mouth, along with more blood.  Metatron was going to lose.  This fucker was going down.

“Why are you laughing?” Metatron sneered.  “Am I not torturing you as efficiently as I should?”  He slammed the hilt of the blade against your head and you were out once again.

****.****  
.

How long had it been since Metatron had taken you prisoner?  Focusing on your breathing hadn’t helped much, so you tried to focus on time instead of the pain coursing through your hand and arm as you worked.  The bleeding had all but stopped from the wounds on your arm—it was the one on your palm that had you worried.  He’d managed to damage muscle and tendons, clear down to the bones.  It made you ill just looking at it.

So you used your one good hand to rip strips off the bottom of your shirt to use as makeshift bandages, all while trying not to notice the fact that you could see the bones in your hand.  You’d also tied one of the strips tightly around your forearm, hoping that it could act as a tourniquet and slow the flow of blood.  Modesty would have to be sacrificed to keep yourself from bleeding out.

Come to think of it—how were you even still alive?  You’d lost a lot of blood, as evidenced by the amount that covered the floor of your cell.  Why hadn’t you died?  Was this some sick game of Metatron’s—bring you to the brink of death and dangle you there?

How long?  You honestly had no idea.  You had no window to see out to know where the sun was.  And where were you?  Were you far from home?  Were you even still on Earth?

“I appreciate the gesture, ______,” Metatron stepped into your cell, eyeing your bare midriff.  “But don’t think that will make me spare your life.”

“Fuck you.”  Just the thought of him touching you made you want to hurl, even more than the pain in your hand.  You tried to ball your hand into a fist, just in case he got it in his mind to try and touch you, but the fingers of your wounded hand wouldn’t cooperate.  The entirety of your arm, shoulder to fingertips, was absolutely useless.

“Just imagine it.  God and the prophet.  Doesn’t that sound exciting?”  He moved closer to you and you and you cowered.  “No?  Maybe you’d prefer something like this?”  His face morphed from his own to Gabriel’s.

“Fuck you!”  You kicked out at him, but he grabbed your ankle and pulled.  You landed flat on your back, your skull making a distinctive cracking noise as it hit the ground.  You cried out and your vision whited out for a brief moment.

“Where is he, ______?”

“No.” You choked on a sob, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.  But you were quickly losing that battle.  Tears fell from your eyes, leaving streaks in the blood that had dried on your face.

_Sam —cell phone pressed to his ear.  “…save you or kill you…done trying to save you. You’re a monster…”_

_Monster…_

_Dean—black eyes—kill the monster._

“What are you seeing?”  Metatron leaned over you, still wearing Gabriel’s face.  

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the sight.  You knew this wasn’t Gabriel, but just seeing his face—

“Come on, ______.”  You squeezed your eyes shut even tighter, wishing you could somehow block out the sound of the voice that was now Gabriel’s.  “You like how this vessel looks?  Ever touched him?”  He leaned down and you could feel his breath against your ear.  “Ever let him touch you?”

_Castiel with Gadreel.  Car.  Handcuffs.  Wookie?_

“Where is he, ______?”  Fingertips ghosted over your skin and you felt bile rise up in your throat.  

“Fuck you.”  You used your working arm to try and push him away.  You brought your knees up to your chest to try and kick him back.  He merely laughed at your attempt to move him.  

“I see Mr. Casanova isn’t living up to his reputation if he hasn’t bedded you yet.”  Metatron’s face morphed back into it’s original look.  “Lucky for me, I won’t need good looks.”

Oh, fuck.  He was going to…fucking _monster!_

“You’ll find that if you just give me what I want, I can be very merciful.”  Your legs and arms were pinned down to the floor.  “However, if you continue to test my patience….”

“Dean—Dean Winchester!”  You were grasping at straws.  “Going after the Mark…Mark of Cain.  Gonna kill Abaddon.  And you!”  You tugged at your invisible restraints, but you couldn’t budge.  

Metatron lunged at you, raising his fist and connecting it with your jaw.  Your head snapped back against the ground.  You cried out, the earlier crack in your skull leaving a soft spot for this new pain to shoot clear through.  Your brain felt like it was on fire.

He stood up and dusted himself off, as if he couldn’t believe he’d let you get to him.  Oh, but you weren’t done yet.

“He’s gon… make you bleed.  Make you suffer,” you snarled even as you slurred your words.  “Gon watch.  Watch you beg.  Like a dog.”

In the blink of an eye, he had his Angel Blade out and jammed into your good hand.  The pain made you fold in on yourself.  You began to sob, screaming out in anguish.  Fuck, it hurt so bad.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron has you as his prisoner. He’s taken great pleasure in torturing you—coming up with new an inventive ways to cause you pain. But maybe, there’s one thing—one insignificant, annoying, glorious thing—he hasn’t thought of that could just be your saving grace.

“______?”

_Oh, god, don’t—please._  In the times Metatron had tortured you while wearing Gabriel’s face, he hadn’t connected with you mentally.  How had he realized your mental link with the archangel?

“______.”

_No!  Get—fuck outta my head!_

“______, it’s me.”

_Just like—you in this cell every time—put his hands on me.  Go fuck you—Met-tron._

“It’s me, Gabriel.”

_Prove it._

“Sweetheart, I have no idea how to do that.  Metatron has the Angel Tablet so he’s got more power than I do at the moment.”

_Sweetheart?_ Metatron had never used those annoying pet names Gabriel liked to call you.  Not once.   _Gabriel?_

“Yeah, it’s me.  Metatron’s got his hands full trying to track down some angels.  I need you to tell me where you are.”

_Trap—so sorry.  Please don’t hate me._

“Oh, sweetcheeks, what the hell makes you think I’m going to hate you?”

_So stupid._

“We can discuss all that once I rescue you.  Now, he’s got you blocked from me.  I can’t figure out where you are.”

_A cell._

“Right—kind of figured he had you locked up.  But where?”

_Don’t know.  Heaven?_  

_And the street of the city was of gold, as as pure as transparent glass._ The thought struck you out of nowhere.

“I don’t think I can get there.  Since we got the boot, I haven’t been able to go back.”

_’s OK._

“No, it’s not.  I’m not failing you.  I’ve failed enough people as is.”

_Not failed.  Not failed.  Not failed._

“You can’t even think in complete sentences, can you?  Shit, what has he done to you?”

Metatron stepped into the cell before you could respond.  You opened your eyes just enough to see him.  He kicked you, hard, in the side, and you instinctively curled into a ball.

“Gon—you gonna stab my f-feet next?  Finish crucifixion?  Know writers like s—symbolism.”

“You are trying my patience, ______.  And it’s rather sad, don’t you think?  You’ve been here for over two weeks, Earth time.  Gabriel hasn’t even tried to find you.  But you’re still protecting him.”

“‘nt get here.  Gave angels the boot.”

“Ah, but there are portals to heaven.  It wouldn’t take a smart angel like Gabriel very long to figure out which sigils to use to get here.”  He smiled.  “Face it, ______, you’re on your own, protecting an archangel who couldn’t care less about what you’re going through.  Just make it easy on yourself.  Tell me where he is, and I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“No.”

You saw the rage build in his eyes as he lifted the Angel Blade up, ready to strike.  A bright light flashed, knocking Metatron off kilter, but not off his feet.  Suddenly, Gabriel was standing next to your feet.  You curled tighter into a ball, wary.

“Sorry, cupcake.  Hadn’t thought about sigils getting me back here.”  You forced your fear away.  This was the real Gabriel.  Had to be—he was using the stupid nicknames and everything.  And it wasn’t like Metatron could do much worse to you than he already had.

In his hand, Gabriel wielded a blade similar to the one Metatron had used on you.  There was something different about this one, though.  Just a feeling about it.  Must be an Archangel Blade.

“Ah, a mental link with the prophet, Gabriel?  Hadn’t even considered that.  If I’d known, I would have saved myself a lot of trouble and mentioned the portals sooner.”  Metatron had regained his balance and was circling around Gabriel.  A predator, waiting to pounce.

“Let her go, Metatron.  Your beef is with me.”

You followed their movements with your eyes, a dance around each other, each trying to decide who would strike first.

“Aren’t you precious?  But you’re supposed to be dead.  How did you manage it, Gabriel?  Heaven mourned after you died by Lucifer’s hand.  How are you back?”

“Guess I’m just Dad’s favorite, after all.”

“You mean God?” Metatron barked a laugh.  “You’re looking at Him.”

“Hate to break it to you, short stuff, but I didn’t get these good looks from you.  Now, let her go.”  Gabriel never took his eyes off Metatron, turning to keep the angel in his line of sight.

“You think I meant to use her only as a trap for you?”  Metatron shook his head, his creepy smile back on his face.  “That’s the only reason she’s been allowed to live.  Otherwise I’d have killed her the day Gadreel brought her in.  But, now that you’re here, I can dispose of her.”

“She’s done nothing to you, Metatron.  Let her go.”

“She’s the prophet, Gabriel.  I can’t risk letting her live.”  Metatron paused his movements and cocked his head to the side.  “Actually, you know what?  There is something…I’ll let her go.  But you have to do something for me.”

 “I’m an archangel.  You’re a douchey scribe, Metatron.  What makes you think I can’t just take her from you now?”

“So cocky.  Should have expected that from you overhyped freak.”  Metatron smiled.  “Try it.  See what happens.”

Gabriel held up his hand and snapped his fingers.  Nothing happened.  He looked at his hand and snapped again.  Still nothing.

“You amuse me, Gabriel.  Did you forget, _I’m God now._  What I say goes.”  Instantly, you began to vomit blood onto the ground.  The intensity of your pain had your head spinning—or was that from the blood loss?

“What do you want me to do?”

Summoning what little strength you had, you turned to glare at Gabriel.  “Don’t—”

“Shut up, ______.” Gabriel snapped, turning his attention back to Metatron.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Before Lucifer killed you, I’d been keeping an eye on you for some time, Gabriel—”

“Because that isn’t creepy.”

“I am _not_ creepy.”

_For lo and behold, there stood a creeptastic angel of the Lord, with delusions of grandeur, for he did believe that he was God._

“Anyway,” Metatron shook off his momentary emotional outburst.  “You once tried to get the Winchesters to ‘play their roles.’  I have a similar task for you.  Only, this time, you’re going to be successful in convincing Castiel.”

_“I swore—makes Dr. Sexy sexy, fact—he wears cowboy boots. Not tennis shoes.”_

_Gabriel, doctor—boots!_ You caught Gabriel’s eye.

“What?” Metatron looked over at you.  He couldn’t break through your mental connection with Gabriel?  

“Fuck you.”  You wheezed in agony as he kicked you in the stomach.

“Leave her alone, Metatron.” Gabriel was back on the defensive, stepping between you and the bastard.  “Fine, I’ll do it.  But let her go.”

“Oh, no.  I know how this goes.  I free her, you refuse to follow my directions.  No—she’s my bargaining chip.  It’s time for you to play _your_ role.”

“My only role is to protect the prophet.”

“And look how you’ve failed at that.  Twice, now, you’ve let this _lowly scribe_ steal the prophet out from under your nose.  You let Kevin pay the ultimate price for your arrogance.  You are worthless as an archangel.  Absolutely useless.  She suffers now because of you.  Because of your inability to do what you were supposed to.”

You looked up at Gabriel and you just knew—Metatron was getting to him.  He’d found Gabriel’s weak spot.  This feeling of inadequacy.  Not being good enough.  He already thought himself as worthless—not being able to save his family, dying by Lucifer’s hand, losing Kevin.  You could see it in his eyes—the archangel was breaking.

“Fuck you, Met—” The shoe pressing against your throat cut off the rest.

“Now, you are going to play the role I have set for you.  Play it well, or she will share Kevin’s fate.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron has you. And now he has the only hope you had of rescue. You’ve only been fooling yourself to think you could somehow survive this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions rape and potential rape. Please do NOT read if you are triggered by either of these things. Keep yourselves safe <3

_**Please read the note at the beginning BEFORE reading this.** _

 

 

_Don’t do this, Gabriel…don’t lead—brother down this road._

*I had one job, ______.*

_Not…a fucking meme, Gabriel—your brother.  Hurt you when you lost all…first time.  You…gonna let this… fuck-face break more of them?_

*I know what I’m doing.*

_Not worth it.  One person—all those angels?_

*Please, just…just trust me, OK?  I know what I’m doing.*  

_I trust you.  Metatron…don’t trust._

*You and me both, sweetheart.  But I’ve got this.*

_Be careful…please._

You wanted to tell him that losing him would be worse than all of Metatron’s torture, but you couldn’t.  The rational part of your brain knew that the mental link indicated that this was the real Gabriel, but you’d seen him, so many times, felt him hit you, felt him hurt you—you weren’t sure you’d ever be 100% certain.

Instead, you watched the scene Metatron had laid out in front of you—Gabriel popping into Castiel’s hotel room from…what else…a porno.  It hurt, how sickeningly _Gabriel_ the scenario was.  How this monster had manipulated it so well that Castiel would have to believe Gabriel.  With each passing moment that flashed before your eyes, you felt your hatred for Metatron grow—something that you hadn’t previously thought possible.

“…most of my juice to get back into porn.  That came out wrong…so did that”  Definitely something Gabriel would say, but as you listened to him, there was something forced about the delivery.

Gabriel was trying, subtly, to let Castiel know something was wrong. Castiel, however, didn’t seem to be catching on.  You just hoped Metatron wouldn’t catch on to what Gabriel was doing.

“I’m precious cargo.”

You tried not to watch as Gabriel stared out the window of the car.  He looked so utterly hopeless—so contained and caged.  You hadn’t seen that look on his face since he’d told you how he wanted to make heaven a place he wanted to be.  It hurt.  But Metatron forced you to watch, prying your eyes open for every moment of this sick, twisted performance.

He wanted an audience for his play.  He wanted you to watch as Gabriel sold out his brother.  He wanted you to know what kind of angel you had been protecting for so long.  

But you already knew the answer to that.  You knew exactly what kind of angel you’d been blessed to have as a friend.  The kind who listened to you, even when you were being an idiot.  The kind who respected your feelings, even when he couldn’t understand them, himself.  The kind of angel Metatron could never even hope to be.  Gabriel was good.  And even though he sometimes struggled to see himself as such, you’d just have to prove to him that he was.

“So, what?  We both die here?”

Finally, Castiel had caught on.  You watched him examine his pocket.  Gabriel had found a way to let him know something was wrong, while still playing the part Metatron had written for him.  You mentally cheered as Gabriel left Castiel with nothing more than a wiggle of his eyebrows.

****.  
** **

“How was that?”  Finally, Gabriel was back in your cell, shit-eating-grin on his face.

Was it Gabriel, though, or was it just another trick of Metatron’s?  You were fairly sure before because Metatron had been in the cell with you when Gabriel had popped in.  But now?

_Ga—_

The most horrendous pain you’d ever felt ripped through your head.  Your vision blacked out and you screamed, but that only worsened the feeling of daggers slicing through your skull.  You could feel your body convulsing, but you were powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your shoulders, pinning you down.

No!  Metatron was actually going to—

You struggled.  Your hands hurt so bad, but still, you tried to do anything to fend off your attacker.  You kicked at him, a rush of adrenaline filling you when your foot made contact with something solid and you heard him grunt.

“______!  What the hell?”

Your vision started to clear as the pain in your head receded, but all you saw was Gabriel’s face looming over you, felt his hands on you, trying to stop your struggling.

“No. No, no, no.”   _Not as Gabriel.  Any other face—not his.  Don’t take away…best friend._

*______, sugar, it’s me.*

You froze.   _Gabriel?_

“What the hell was that?” Metatron stormed into your cell, drawing your attention away from the archangel.  In the blink of an eye, Gabriel was thrown across the room, slamming against the wall and falling to the floor with a thud.

“An Oscar worthy performance, I’d say.” Gabriel groused, picking himself up from the ground.  “I did everything you told me to.  Not my fault you fucked up with the jacket.” Gabriel’s Archangel Blade dropped into his hand.  “Let her go.”

“I don’t think so.”  Metatron held a palm towards Gabriel, who was now unable to move from his spot, pressed against the wall.  “I think it’s time to write a new chapter to this story.”

In the blink of an eye, you were airborne.  Metatron held you vertical, less than an inch away from him.  The gleam in his eyes had you terrified.

“Maybe a romance is what this story needs.”  You were going to be sick.   “God and the prophet.”

“You sick bastard.” Gabriel fought against Metatron’s hold.  “You said you’d let her go.”

“I changed my mind.”  Metatron chuckled darkly and began to circle around you.  You tried to fight his hold, but you were frozen.  You couldn’t even open your mouth  “You should have heard her, Gabriel.  The way she screamed, begged me to stop.  Especially,” Metatron looked like Gabriel, yet again, “When I looked like this.”

*Oh, fuck, sweetheart.*

_Gabriel, please—don’t let him—I don’t…_

“What the fuck kind of _god_ are you?   _Raping_ people?”

Metatron stopped moving and looked over at Gabriel.  “Alright, _Loki_ _._  I can be a benevolent God.” He turned his attention back to you as he returned to his own form. “______, you have a choice.  Either, you say yes, and Gabriel dies.  Or, you say no, and you both die.”

That couldn’t have been an easier choice.  Once you had control over your mouth again, you were quick to answer.  “No.” If you’d had the strength, you would have smiled at how fast Metatron’s face fell.  So ready to believe that humans couldn’t be self-sacrificing.

“Fine.” He held his other hand towards you, quickly making a fist.

Your body contorted, folding in on itself as every one of your nerve endings seemed to explode within you.  Everything, up to this point—even the pain from a few minutes before, had been nothing compared to this intensity—like a supernova was burning you from the inside-out.

And then, nothing.  You couldn’t feel it.  You couldn’t feel any of the pain that had been your daily companion since Metatron had started his torturing.

_Is this what it’s like to be dead?_

“______!”

You were surprised at the ease you were able to turn your head to look at Gabriel.  “So sorry, Gabriel.”

“No.” You looked up at Metatron to see him staring at you in what looked to be disbelief.  “How…how…?”

_Final prophet.  There is no other.  You are the last.  You cannot be destroyed._

_Are you shitting me?  I’m the Avatar?_  You tried to move, but more blood came up from your stomach.  The pain was back, with a vengeance.

“Why can’t I kill you?”

“There has to be a prophet.” Gabriel watched you, helpless to move.  “You destroyed the prophet list.  She’s it.”  

You writhed on the ground as Metatron continued to clench and unclench his fist.  “She still feels pain.  And she will continue to feel it.”

“Metatron,” someone appeared behind him in the doorway to your cell.  “Castiel—he is waking.”  There was no inflection in her voice, just a robotic sort of calm.  How could anyone walk in to find someone being tortured and remain calm?

_Soldiers.  Angels are warriors of God.  They are not meant to feel.  They are meant to follow._

“Very well.” Metatron sighed, like a petulant child being called in from playing.  

With a quick flick of his wrist, you found yourself in a box.  A clear box—probably some sort of glass or plastic.  It was just wide enough for you to be forced to remain vertical, even though you slumped against the wall.  You could see Gabriel, still being held against the wall, and he started to panic.  You watched the emotion play across his face, even as Metatron and the other angel left the room.

It took several moments for the feeling of water to register in your brain.  It started as a gentle trickle near your feet.  But the level rose.  It was at your ankles, and then your knees.  You hit the wall of your box weakly, but it did nothing.  Looking up, you realized you were completely boxed in.  Fuck.

Again, you tried to hit the wall, but your weakened and broken body left you with very little strength.  The box didn’t budge.  The water was up to your waist now, and panic began to set in even more.

You looked at Gabriel when the water rose to your shoulders.  You could see his lips moving—like he was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear him.  He was struggling, fruitlessly, against Metatron’s hold.   Somehow, he was still able to keep Gabriel pinned, even though his focus must have been elsewhere.  _Maybe he really was God?_

*That fucker is no more God than the man in the moon.*

_He’s gonna drown me, Gabriel!_

*No he’s not.*

 _Gabriel—!_ The water was up to your ears.  You tried to focus on relaxing—allowing yourself to float.  There was no way you could try and hold yourself above the water level.

You coughed as the water spilled past your lips.  Still, the water continued to rise.  You had only an inch or so left of breathing room.  You sucked in as much air as your battered body would allow, just as it closed in over your head.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will there ever be a light at the end of this damned tunnel?

Ten seconds.  

Twenty.  

Thirty.  

Your lungs started to ache.  You needed oxygen.  You struggled with all your might, but the fucking box wouldn’t move.  Trying to buy yourself more time, you began to exhale as slowly as possible.  But once that was done, you had no back up plan.  On reflex, you breathed in, water filling your lungs.  You coughed and sputtered, trying to clear it, but it was only replaced by more water.  You panicked and fought with the box again, to no avail.  This was fight-or-flight mode, but you had no strength to fight and no where to fly.

You felt dizzy and your movements became more sluggish.  You body continued to try and breathe, only to choke on the water again.

*Fight it, ______.  Don’t stop—once you stop, you’re…* Gabriel’s voice in your head began to fade out as your body began to shut down.

You’d tried.  You’d given it your best efforts.  But, at least you could go, knowing that Metatron hadn’t broken you into giving up Gabriel’s location.

*______* You looked over at Gabriel, your vision starting to darken.  *Close your eyes.*  You frowned, unsure of why he was asking that, but closed your eyes anyway.  A moment later, a bright light flashed, and you felt the water heat up around you.  *Keep them closed.*  You nodded dumbly, unable to do much else.

Suddenly, the water began to spill away from you.  Your body drifted with the flow, until something took hold of you.  You had no strength to fight against it, and whatever it was, it was much warmer than the cold that had begun to seep into your bones from the lack of oxygen and blood flow.

*I’ve got you, cupcake.  Just don’t open your eyes.*  Well, that was certainly doable, seeing as how you didn’t even have the strength to open them.

Something pressed, hard, against your chest.  You felt the water being forced from your lungs, and you were able to gasp in much needed air.

“Gabriel—” You hadn’t meant to open your eyes, but you supposed nearly dying was a good enough excuse.  Instead of the face you’d grown accustomed to seeing, with the golden hair and whiskey eyes, a glowing form with several pairs of eyes stared back down at you.  Each set of eyes was attached to…well, a face, you supposed.  But there was just so much to take in, you weren’t sure where to start.  “Gabriel.”

There was no second-guessing with who was holding you.  This was Gabriel.  Not some fake copy Metatron had made.  100% Gabriel.  You weren’t sure how you knew, because this looked nothing like your friend, but you knew.  Gabriel had you, and that meant you were going to be OK.

“Hey, pumpkin.  Guess you can see my true form without being turned into a pile of ash.”  None of the mouths seemed to be moving, so you weren’t exactly sure where the voice was coming from.  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“You saved me.”Way to state the obvious, brain.

“Sure did, sugar.  And now, I think it’s time for you and me to amscray before Meta-douche gets back, yeah?”

“K.”  Gabriel held you to him tightly, just as your eyes drifted shut.

.

You weren’t sure what woke you up, you just knew you were hungry.  And that it hurt to even open your eyes.

“______?”

You froze.

Then everything came rushing back to you in a jumbled mess.  The cell, the torture—Gabriel torturing you.  No—Gabriel saved you?  But then why could you still feel his fists, his blade…Metatron.  Was this just Metatron screwing with your brain?

“Sugar?”  You blinked a few times to adjust to the light.  He was sitting in a chair next to…wherever you were.

“Ga-Gabriel?” Your throat felt like it was on fire.

“Hey, sweetheart.  How are you feeling?”  Sugar, then sweetheart…good.  Stupid nicknames.  That had to mean this was Gabriel.  The real Gabriel.

“Like… hit by a truck…backed up…ran over me again.”  You groaned, trying and failing to sit up.  “…the hell happened?”

“Little less hell, a lot more heaven happened.  Unfortunately.”  He frowned.  His frown deepened when he reached out to touch your hand and you instinctively jerked away.  You dropped your gaze from his face, hoping he’d just ignore your reaction.

“Metatron—is he…”

“Still up there?  Yeah.  Also unfortunately.”

“He—he’s not going…”

*Think it.* Obviously, he’d sensed your pain at having to use your voice.

_He’s not going to win.  I…I had a vision.  The Angel Tablet was broken—I think that’s the source of his power.  He was in chains._

*Good.*  You could feel the anger radiating from him through your mental link.

_What’s wrong?_

*This.* He reached towards you, and you hissed at the pain jolting through you at your movements to get away from him.  *What did he do to you?*

_Gabriel, you don’t want to know that._

“Tell me, ______.”  You didn’t mean to flinch, but you did, and he definitely noticed. “Please, sweetheart.” Somehow, he finally seemed to understand that your name coming from him wasn’t going to be a source of comfort.

“He—he just…” You swallowed, but it did little to sooth your throat.   _He just…hurt me._

“Yeah, I get that he hurt you.  What I want to know ishowhe hurt you when he was wearing my face.”

_I’m pretty sure all the cracks in my skull are courtesy of him as you.  My knee—which I think is dislocated, at least two broken ribs, and the toenails that were ripped out.  I don’t really know after that.  It all kind of…blurs together._

“Did he…” His voice trailed off, and you knew just where his train of thought went.  Tears began to fall from your eyes at the thought of the question you didn’t want to answer.  *Did he rape you?  As himself or as me?*

_Gabriel—_

*Please, ______, I need to know.*

_Why?  Why do you want to know that?  Why do you want to know how violated he made me feel even though he never actually raped me?_  You were angry now—angry at Gabriel for making you think about what you’d been through. _Why do you want to know how he made himself look like you and then made me think he was going to…please…I don’t…_

You were in full blown hysterics now.  Gabriel moved towards you, probably to offer some sort of comfort, but all you could see was that leer on his face and feel him pinning you to the floor, his fingers on your skin, and hear his voice telling you that he could take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Stop…please.” You curled yourself into a ball, not caring about the pain, just wanting to get away.  You were shaking, your sobs violently racking your body.  “No!”

*______, sweetheart.*

Even the voice in your head did little to calm you.  This was all just another way Metatron had found to torture you.

You felt his hand on your shoulder and you lashed out as best you could, swinging your all but useless arms at him.  “Don’t fucking touch me, you sick fucking—”

“Fuck.”

.

_Dean Winchester stalks around Metatron, who is chained to a chair.  He lists crimes Metatron has committed.  Things like Kevin’s death, and casting out the angels.  He is holding an angel blade aimed at Metatron’s throat._

.

*Please let me help you.*

You looked up, startled to see Gabriel standing across the room from you, a helpless look in his eyes.  “What?”

“You’re bleeding again.”

You turned your attention down to your hands, noticing that you’d torn whatever bandages Gabriel had put on them, and they had started bleeding freely.  Now that your adrenaline was receding, the pain from your struggling hit you, hard.  Gabriel sensed your distress and had a bucket ready for when you started dry-heaving.  Nothing came up, but there was something comforting about having some sort of receptacle, just in case.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”  He moved to the opposite side of the bed once your nausea subsided, giving you some much needed space.  “I guess I burned up too much of my grace when I busted you out of that box.”

“Burned up?” Finally, your breathing was returning to normal, and you were starting to come down from your panic.  Not relaxed, but less out of control.  You fought to push it down—bottle up your fear and anger and anxiety.

“Not having access to Heaven limits my grace.  I don’t have the same capabilities as I once did.  And breaking out my true form did a number on it.  It’ll take a few days before I can completely heal you.”

“I’m sorry.”  He’d only been trying to help you, and here you go, attacking him.  It wasn’t his fault Metatron had fucked with your brain.  “I’m so sorry.” All you felt now was an intense, heavy sadness.

“For what?”

“I fucked everything up.”  You started crying again.  You were much more subdued—or at least, you appeared to be.  Inside, it felt like a fist was squeezing your heart, trying to cause you as much pain as possible.  “If—if I had just…I’m so fucking stupid.”

If you had just not snuck out to go meet with Shelly.  If you had actually put some thought into your actions that day.  But you had to go and be stupid, even knowing that so many people—things—beings—whatever would want you dead.  You brought all this on yourself.

“Why didn’t you just tell him where I was?”

“What?” His question caught you off-guard, momentarily halting your tears.  “Gabriel, I couldn’t—you—you’re m-my best friend.  I couldn’t j-just sell you out.”

“I’m your best friend?” He cocked his head to the side, studying you.

You nodded.

“Then, will you let me rebandage your hands?”

Biting your lip, you nodded.  You held your hands out towards him, but they shook at the idea of him having to touch you to rewrap them.  He smiled briefly, before snapping his fingers.  New bandages were around your wounds before you had time to blink.

“I’m guessing, the less touching right now, the better?”

“I’m really sor—”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing, _absolutely_ _nothing_ , to be sorry for.  Not for meeting up with Shelly, or for being scared of me, or anything else your mind is telling you is your fault.  We’re going to figure this out, OK?  You and me.”

“Why—why are you being so nice to me?”

“Never had a best friend before.  Kinda like how it feels.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're free. You're trying to move on. But what is reality and what isn't?

You woke up, gasping for air.

It was the same way you’d woken up every night since Gabriel brought you to his secret hideout.  With Metatron’s torture still fresh in your mind, it really wasn’t surprising that you’d relive it every night in your sleep.

You tried to push yourself into a sitting position and wound up crying out at the sharp pain in your hands.  You collapsed back against your pillow, biting your tongue to try and distract your brain from the jolts that started in your palms and seemed to electrify every nerve ending in your body.

*Cupcake?*

You’d worked out an understanding with Gabriel—when you woke up or whenever you started to flashback, he needed to communicate with you mentally.  And he needed to avoid using your name when he did that.  Otherwise…

Well, you’d already reopened the wounds in your hands six times over the course of two days just trying to get away from him.

_Gabriel._

You were sobbing, even in your own mind.  Your thoughts were frantic as you fought to reassure yourself that you were no longer being held captive.  You were safe, snuggled up under the silk sheets and down blanket Gabriel had provided for you, tucked away in his hiding place, away from Metatron.

*Can I come in?*

You shook your head, not thinking about the fact that he was on the other side of your closed door.

*Sugar, how can I help?  Tell me what I can do.*

You had no idea how to respond.  

How were you supposed to tell him that you needed almost constant reassurance, especially after your nightmares, that you weren’t still in that cell?  That all of this wasn’t just Metatron waiting until you relaxed before yanking the rug out from under you?  That you needed someone to let you know that you were alright?  And that it couldn’t be him?

How were you supposed to tell Gabriel that sometimes, just looking at him filled you with enough trepidation that you wanted to vomit?  He’d been pretty good at keeping his movements slow, giving you enough time to gauge what he was doing.  Still, it was like you were waiting.  Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to morph back into Metatron, for him to stab you with his Angel Blade, for him to…

*Sweetheart, I would _never_ do _anything_ to _anyone_ without their consent.  You know angels and—* His thought cut off suddenly.

Even if he wasn’t God, Metatron was still an angel.  And consent had never seemed high on his list of priorities.

*Silent night.  Holy night.  All is calm.  All is—*

_Uh, Gabriel?_

*Yeah?*

_Why are you singing Christmas carols in my head?_

*Do you feel any better?*

Strangely enough, the sound of his voice singing sweetly in your mind had eased your distress a little.  Not to mention, the surprise at suddenly hearing a Christmas song was enough to momentarily distract you from your thoughts.

*I’m not really sure what else I can do to help.*

_I’ll be alright._

He sighed across your link.  He was not shy about letting you know he hated when you tried to tamp down your feelings.  He wanted you to face them head-on and deal with them.  But you just wanted to forget.  Forget your whole ordeal and move on.  Preferably a lot faster than you were.

*Do your bandages need changing?*

You examined your hands in the moonlight that leaked in through the window over your bed.  The bandages were still clean—meaning that you hadn’t bled through the wrap.

_No.  I think everything held._

*You sure?*

_Yes._  You replied curtly, then instantly regretted your tone.  It wasn’t fair, snapping at him like he’d done something wrong.   _Sorry._

*Don’t—* He was angry now.  *Stop apologizing.  I am OK if you get angry with me.  In fact, I’d prefer it if you were angry.  It’s healthier than you trying to hide every emotion you’re feeling.*

You wanted to be angry.  You wanted to scream at him to go away.  But at the same time, you didn’t want to feel anything and you hated him for preaching to you about the importance of dealing with your feelings.

_OK._

The emotions that threatened to drown you were more terrifying that being in that box, literally drowning.  At least then, if you _had_ drowned, you wouldn’t have had this constant empty, broken feeling.

*Damn it, ______.*  He wasn’t angry anymore.  Just defeated.

_I’m OK now.  Promise_.

*Sure.* He sighed.

.

“You ready?”

You nodded at Gabriel and held out your hands.  His touch was light, and you gasped at the warmth that entered your hands and made your fingertips tingle. 

So far, over the last week, he’d already taken care of the cracks in your skull and your dislocated knee cap.  It sucked having to wait—you wanted to be healed in one go, but it made more sense not to.  No need to draw Metatron’s attention to your location if he realized there was a giant pull of power.

“How’s that?”

“Thank you.”  You flexed your fingers, watching as each digit curled towards your palm.  Having gone for some time without having the use of your hands, it was weird to watch them work.

“You ready for some breakfast?”  You looked up to see a hopeful expression on his face.

You shrugged, indifferent.  “Not hungry.”

He frowned.  “______, that’s what you’ve said to me practically every time I mention food.  You’re not in heaven anymore.  I know you have to be famished.”

“OK.”

Better to just give in and force down a few bites than to deal with him mother-henning you.  He snapped his fingers and a bowl of oatmeal on a tray was in front of you, across your lap.  

“Thanks.”  You flashed him a weak smile before reaching out with a newly healed hand and lifting the spoon to your lips.

.

Metatron approached where he had you chained to a wall.  In his hands, your tormentor held an iron poker, the end of it yellow with heat.  He thrust it towards your chest, stopping just an inch or so away from your skin.  

“No!  Please don’t!”

You’d lost feeling in your arms from having them held above your head for so long.  Your legs ached, being forced to stand on tip-toe to keep from dangling by your wrists.  You could feel blood from a head wound dripping down the side of your face.

“Gabriel’s never coming for you.”  He waved the poker around your face, just barely grazing your left cheek.  

You hissed and tried to jerk your head away, but your chains only gave you so much room to move.  Your footing slipped, and the manacles began to slice into your wrists.  You couldn’t feel the sting, but you managed to get your toes to hold you up again.  “Gabriel—he’s gonna kill you.”

“You think he cares enough about you to fight me?  Even if I didn’t have all of Heaven’s power, do you really think an archangel would lower himself enough to care for a pathetic, worthless human?”  He grabbed your neck, holding your head still.

“He’s…he’s my…” You choked out.

“ _Friend?_ ” Metatron scoffed, his fingers digging in deeper, making it impossible for you to breathe.  “Angels don’t have friends.” He drove the poker into your eye.

.

“______!”

You bolted upright, knocking your head against something—someone—Gabriel.  Gabriel?  What was he doing in your room?

“You started screaming, and I didn’t want to leave you sleeping through that.”

Oh.  “Thanks,” you replied shakily, fighting the need to get away from him.  You looked up to find him frowning at you.  “What?”

“When will you ever learn?”

You cocked your head to the side, trying to figure out what he meant.

“Tell me something, ______.  Do you really think an archangel couldn’t have found a way into heaven if he wanted in?  Doesn’t it make more sense that heaven’s most terrifying weapon just didn’t feel it was worth his effort to save such a sniveling little scum?  Certainly I could have protected Kevin, if I had wanted to.  Do you honestly think you’re worth saving?”  His eyes suddenly glowed yellow.

“No!”  You tried to move, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned you to the bed.  No, not a bed.  You were on the ground, unable to shift in any direction. **  
**

“I’ll tell you a secret.”  Gabriel leaned forward, until his lips were right next to your ear.  “Nobody is coming to save you.”

.

*…of life.  And it moves us alllllllllll.  Through despair and hope.  Through faith and looooove.*

.

You blinked several times to find yourself lying on the bed in the room Gabriel had provided for you.  The blankets from your bed were twisted around you completely, not allowing any room for movement.  You struggled for a few minutes before you were finally able to disentangle yourself.

*You OK, pumpkin?*

_Gabriel?_  You quickly scanned the room, but you were unable to locate the archangel.  This had you springing into a fighting stance.  No way was he going to get the jump on you again.  

But where the fuck was he?

*Outside your door, sweetheart.  I told you I wouldn’t come in unless you said it was OK.*

_But you were in here earlier._

*You were dreaming.  That wasn’t me.*

_How do I know_ this _is you?_

*Can you think of anyone else who would sing songs from the Lion King at 2:37 in the morning?*

That gave you pause.  But could you really lower your guard enough to risk this being just another trick of Metatron’s?  You’d thought you’d woken up from the nightmare before, only to wind up sucked back in to the horrors that haunted you.

*Can I get you anything?*

_No._  Instead, you darted to the bathroom and promptly lost all of your stomach’s contents.  He never came in, but you felt a sense of calm wash over you after your insides settled that had to be Gabriel’s doing.

*It’s gonna be OK.*

_How?_  How was anything ever going to be OK again?

*’cause every little thing gonna be alright.* He sang in your head.

You choked on a laugh and slumped against the wall.  You wiped the tears from your eyes, hoping, against everything your mind was telling you, that Gabriel would be right.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metatron broke you, physically, in that cell up in Heaven. But, perhaps the most effective form of torture is more mental and emotional in nature.

“Son of a bitch!” **  
**

“Everything alright, ______?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Gabriel appeared next to you.  You dropped your cell phone when all of your muscles tensed at his sudden presence.  It took everything in you not to turn and slug him just out of instinct.

It wasn’t enough that you were already irritated.  No, you had to have the shit scared out of you on top of that.

“Fuck, Gabriel!”  You growled, choosing anger instead of tears.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” You snatched your cell phone up from the ground.

“Sorry.” He sighed.

“No.”  So much for not crying.  “I’m sorry.”  Tears formed in your eyes and blurred your vision.  You looked up, trying hard to keep them from falling, to no avail.  “What the fuck is wrong with me?”  Your anger mixed with your sorrow and you hurled your phone at the wall across the room, getting a brief sense of satisfaction when you saw it break on impact.  “Damn it.”

“Hey, hey.”  He slowly reached for your hands and grabbed them before you could destroy anything else.  “It’s my bad.  I thought you realized I was behind you.”  He held your hands loosely in his own, wanting to make sure you realized you could pull away if you needed to.

“I hate feeling like this, Gabriel.  I hate it.  I don’t like being scared all the time.”

He nodded.  Half of you wanted him to pull you in for a hug so you could cry on his shoulder and the other half felt nauseous at the thought.  He sighed again.

“I can do a lot of things, ______.  Unfortunately, making you forget isn’t one of them.”

“Why do you put up with me?  I don’t even want to be around me when I get like this.”  You pulled your hands from his and angrily wiped the tears from your face.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  He smiled, and you felt your anger begin to recede.  “Who were you trying to call?”  He nodded towards the pieces of your broken phone.

“I was gonna call my parents.”  You cringed as you looked over the damage you’d done.  Gabriel had gone out of his way to bring as many of your own things from your apartment to his hideaway, and you’d just destroyed your main link to the outside world.  “It was their anniversary yesterday, and I forgot.”  You ran your hands through your hair, tugging the strands harder than you needed to, thanks to your stress.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”  

You frowned.  “I can’t believe I broke my fucking phone.”  Fuck, could you get anything right?

“Here.”  He snapped, and your phone was once again whole, and in his hand.  He held it out and you accepted it, quickly dialing the number to try and distract yourself from the reminder of everything you’d had on your mind.

“Mom?”

“______?  Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  I’m sorry I forgot to call you yesterday, but–”

She cut off your apology.  “Honey, you need to come home.”  

“Home?”  You hadn’t told her about leaving your job or your apartment.  How in the world did she know you weren’t still there?  Had she tried to contact you before and realized you weren’t there?  How much did she know?

“Yes.  Your father and I need to see you.”

“What’s going on, Mom?”  She only ever referred to your dad as ‘your father’ when something was wrong.

“It’s just–we miss you, honey.  It’s been too long since we’ve all gotten together and caught up on things.”  Her tone was off.

“Oh.  Well, I guess I can see about coming by.”  You looked over at Gabriel and smiled hopefully.  He frowned.  “I’ll see what I can do.  You know…work and everything.”

“You’ve gotten a new job?”

“Y-yeah.  Something like that.”  This was fucking strange.

“Maybe your new boss can let you come by this afternoon.  We’d really love to see you.”

“I’ll try.”

“See that you do.”  Her tone indicated she was done with the conversation.

“Happy anniversary, Mom.  Love you.”

“OK.”  Then the phone beeped to let you know she’d ended the call.

You looked up to see Gabriel still frowning.  “Something’s wrong.”

“Did she say what?”

“No.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “Still, there’s just–it’s weird.  I don’t really know how to explain it.  But I know something’s wrong.”

Gabriel braced himself, as if preparing for an argument.  “Maybe I should check things out.  I know you want to go see them and make sure they’re alright, but I’ll go first.”

“OK.”  You weren’t going to fight him on it.  Not after… “Be careful, though, OK?”

“Always.”  He snapped his fingers and vanished.

.

*Sugar?*

_What’s going on?_  He’d been gone nearly ten minutes and you were ready to crawl the walls.   _Are they OK?_

*They seem to be fine.  But I get what you mean about it being weird.*

_How so?_  Ugh.  Why couldn’t he just spell it out for you already?

*Well, how religious are your parents?*

_Um…The normal amount, I guess?  Why?_

*They’ve got some pretty extreme paraphernalia and warding up in their home.*

_What?_

*Well, there’s at least a half dozen demon traps drawn around their house.  And…oh, shit.*

_What?!_

*They have a sigil for summoning Metatron on their wall.  Fuck.*

_Why do they have that?_

*My guess is Metatron came here, looking for you, after we broke out of heaven.  They essentially have him on speed-dial.*

_Are they OK?  Did he hurt them?_  Fuck!  If he hurt them, you were going to do everything you could to kill that fucker.  Even if it killed you in the process.

*They’re fine.  Completely human and in fairly healthy conditions.  Just–he’s probably convinced them that he needs to find you.  I can’t think of any other reason why they’d have that on their wall.*

_I need to talk to them._

A moment later, Gabriel was beside you.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.  If they have that sigil, they’re probably going to use it.”

“How do you even know they have that sigil?”

“I could see it through the window.” He frowned.  "They-uh-have their home warded against angels and I couldn’t actually get inside.“

"How could they summon Metatron if their house is warded?” None of this was making any sense.

“He’s got the Angel Tablet, sugar. He can do a lot of things I can’t, being cut off from Heaven.”

So then why did your mom insist on you going there? “Something is seriously wrong, Gabriel. She wants me to come over, but they warded against angels and…shit. I really need to see her.”

“______…”

“Somewhere other than the house.  Can you let me know when they leave or something?  I just–I fucked this up– _I_ put them on Metatron’s radar.  I _need_ to fix this.” You stared at him, pleaded as best you could with your eyes. “Please?”

“Alright.” He looked like someone who was about to do something, knowing it couldn’t end well.  Still, you had to try.  "When they leave, I’ll take you to them.“

.

It was the next day before Gabriel let you know your parents left their home.  You’d spent the 24 hours waiting and worrying.  Your mind wandered to all the possibilities that might have happened, and you grew agitated with fear.

.

"There they are.”

You spotted your parents entering a grocery store.  Gabriel nodded and the two of you made your way in as well.

“Mom?”  You caught up to them just as they entered the dairy section.

“______?” Your dad was the first to respond. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to the two of you.”

“We’re shopping right now ______.  We’ll be more than happy to talk to you at the house.”

“We could grab some coffee or something?”

“And let the milk sit in the car?”  Your mom rolled her eyes and tried to push her cart around you.  You grabbed it and forced them to stop moving.  “If you really need to speak with us, ______, you can do it at the house.”

“I can’t go back to your house.”  You weren’t going anywhere without Gabriel.  You weren’t about to make that mistake twice.

“So then, he _was_ right.”  Your parents exchanged a look that worried you.

“Who?”

“How could you do such a thing?  How could our daughter–” The disgust on your dad’s face made you want to cower.  Gabriel placed his hand on your arm in an attempt to offer you comfort.  “And you!”  He turned his venom on Gabriel.  “Convincing our daughter to sell her soul to the devil?”

“Whoa–back the crazy train up a sec…” You looked over at Gabriel to see he was more worried than surprised.  “Dad, this is Gabriel.  He’s my friend.  And not once has any deal with Lucifer been made regarding my soul.”  Well…none that you knew of, anyway.  

“Gabriel, the archangel?”

_Gabriel is surrounded by a ring of holy fire.  Dean and Sam Winchester have him trapped.  They don’t understand who he is, but they are tired of his games._

“Yeah.  That’s me.”  Gabriel’s voice brought you back to the present.

“He’s an angel, Dad, so there’s no way–”

“‘ _Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness,_ ’” your dad spouted off.

“I’m familiar with the verse, yeah.”  Gabriel was having a hard time reigning in his sarcasm.  But, you supposed, an angel being accused of getting someone to sell their soul to the devil probably called for a hefty dose of sarcasm.  And it didn’t help that your parents were shit-talking his brother.

“Mom, Dad, please.  If you’ll just sit and talk with me for a minute, I can explain–”

“There’s nothing to explain.  Either turn yourself over to God, or face eternal damnation.”

“God…” Shit.  How to explain this without sounding sacrilegious.  “God’s not up there.  He’s not in Heaven.  The guy you met–that was Meta–”

“Enough!”  Your father snapped, drawing a few stares.  “I will not have my daughter be a servant of Hell,” he hissed as soon as no one was looking at you.  “You _will_ come back home with us.”

“I _can’t_.”  How did you get him to understand?

“Then I have no daughter.”

It was as if time had stopped.  Your heartbeat accelerated to the point that the beat was all you could hear.  You blinked, your brain still taking time to make sense of the words he’d just said.

“What?”  You looked from your dad to your mom, hoping for some reprieve…some indication that you’d misheard.  “Mom, please just–”

“Do not speak to me.”  She gave you the same glare she used to give you as a child–the one that always made you wilt whenever you were in trouble.  It was still very potent.  “I had hoped you’d love us enough to see the error of your ways.  However, I will not have a child I conceived commit such heinous crimes against Heaven.  If you refuse to repent, you are dead to me.”  She jerked the cart back, out of your grasp, then pushed it around you.

You stared at the spot where your parents had been standing, completely dumbfounded.  What the fuck had just happened?

“Hey, cupcake?  You still with me?”  Gabriel stepped around you, placing his hands on your shoulders and moving so he was in your direct line of sight.  “I’m gonna get you out of here, OK?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t get the words to come out.  You weren’t even sure what words you actually wanted to say.  So you closed your mouth again and hoped your eyes could convey your consent to getting the fuck out of there.

The next instant, you were back in the room you’d spent the last month in, recuperating from what you _thought_ was Metatron’s worst torture.

“I was afraid something like this would happen.”  Gabriel sighed.  “I didn’t–I shouldn’t have brought you to see them.”

“I asked you to take me, didn’t I?”  You found your voice and jerked away from him.  “It’s my own fault.”

It was finally beginning to register–everything that had just happened.  Your parents, convinced that Metatron was God, had… And the way they’d spoken to you. You couldn’t remember ever hearing them so cold and callous before. How could they say all that and not feel something…anything?

“It’s just…aren’t they supposed to be there for me, even when no one else is?”  One by one, tears began to fall.  “Your family is supposed to support you.  Believe you.  Believe in you.” You sucked in a breath.  “They’re supposed to be in your corner when the rest of the world is against you.  But mine…”  You turned back to Gabriel, suddenly angry.  “I hate this.  Fuck, I hate this.  I hate that my parents just fucking disowned me.  I hate that Metatron fucked up my life.  I hate that I’m a fucking prophet of the fucking Lord.  I hate God for doing this to me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”  You wiped your tears away just in time for more to fall.  You rubbed your face again, harder than before.  “I hate this.  You should’ve just left me in that fucking cell.”

“Stop.”  Gabriel grabbed your hands and held them away from you, keeping you from rubbing your skin raw.  “Stop right there, ______.  There was no way I was leaving you in that cell.  There was no way I was letting that bastard keep you.”

“He took my family away from me,” you choked out.

Gabriel let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around you.  “I’m sorry I can’t fix this for you.”

“It’s too much,” you cried against his shirt.  “I don’t think I’m strong enough–it’s just too much.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of your head.  “But you are going to be OK.  You are strong and brave and amazing.”  He began to rock you slowly, humming a tune you recognized as Amazing Grace.  

.

When you finally began to run out of tears, one thought started running through your mind.

_Family don’t end with blood._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything around you is broken. But you don’t get to pick up the pieces of your own life. No, you get to live through everyone else’s shattered lives.

It was so… strange.

You’d been living on your own, independent of your parents for quite a while.  Sure, you saw them at different holidays, and made sure to call them every so often, but you’d been your own person, taking care of yourself. Still, even as self-sufficient as you had been, you’d always known, in the back of your mind, that you could always depend on them if you really needed them.

But that was back before God decided you needed to be a prophet, and subsequently fucked up your entire life.

 

“You doing OK, sugar?”

You glanced up from the page you’d been mindlessly staring at to look at Gabriel. His expression told you he was worried.

“What?”

_  
You looked down at the shards of broken glass at your feet.  This was not going to end well.  They’d always told you to take your soccer ball outside–that you’d break something if you tried to play in the house.  But you were good–too good to let the ball out of your control._

_Except, for one split second, you weren’t.  And now, Mom’s favorite vase was in pieces on the floor._

_She was going to hate you.  Her mom had given her that vase as a wedding present–it was hand-made and irreplaceable._

_You made up your mind.  You had to go.  You weren’t sure where, but you didn’t want to deal with the fallout, didn’t want to see the hate in her eyes when she saw her now broken vase._

_So you hurried up to your room.  You dumped your school supplies out of your backpack and began shoving clothes in.  You had to be quick–they’d be home any minute._

_“______!”  Scratch that.  They were home now._

_Tears began to fill your eyes and you waited.  Angry stomps echoed outside your room just before your door swung open._

_“How many times do we have to tell you, ______,” she paused.  You couldn’t see her face, your vision blurred from crying.  “What are you doing?”_

_“I’m–I’m going–I have to go a-way.” Your voice broke and your bottom lip trembled.  “I–I didn’t mean to–I’m s-sorry about–”_

_“Oh, ______.” She was suddenly at your side, pulling you into a hug.  “Why do you think you have to leave?”_

_“I broke–I don’t want you to hate–please don’t hate me.” You sobbed against her shoulder._

_“Baby, things break.  And yeah, I’m upset, but I could never hate you.” You felt her kiss the top of your head.  “Never ever.”_

  
“You know you’re gonna have to open up about how you’re feeling.“

"Maybe.” You shrugged and closed the book, tossing it away from you. There was no point in trying to pretend to read. “But not today.” You forced a smile to your face.

He frowned, but you didn’t have a better answer. How were you supposed to talk about your feelings when you weren’t even sure exactly what you were feeling?  It was like a chaos had settled in and hadn’t let up in the days since your parents had so casually dumped you.

 

 

Every 24 hours was another day of emotional turmoil. Every night you struggled to find any semblance of peace while Metatron kept invading your dreams. Every morning, you woke up to realize the rug had been yanked out from under you.  That everything you’d once held close to you as a source of comfort was gone.

That support you had taken for granted would always be there, wasn’t. And yeah, it would have happened when your parents passed on, but this way was worse. This was a conscious decision on your parents’ part. This was their choice. And they had chosen to believe you weren’t worth it.

But you didn’t want to talk about it, even though Gabriel kept insisting you should.  You just wanted to forget it.  All of it.  Emotional numbness would have been a welcome relief from the pandemonium going on inside your mind.

_An angel–in a female vessel–her husband is looking for her–he’s looking for the vessel. He’s been tracking her credit cards, but he can’t seem to get to the location in time. Always a step behind._

  
“Hannah? Where is Hannah?”

“What?” Gabriel gave you a worried look.

“The angel, Hannah. Her vessel’s husband is looking for her.”

“Oh. OK.”

You blinked a few times. “That’s it? Just ‘OK?’”

“It’s not like the angel got married, right? It happens sometimes. You take the vessel you can get.” He shrugged.

“So the people who have to give up their lives so that you all can walk among us don’t have any control over what happens to them? Their lives just get ruined?”

“Not ruined. More like…altered.”

“Altered.” You eyed him. “Like the way Jimmy Novak’s life was 'altered’ when Castiel destroyed the man’s family.”

“I’m not saying that everything winds up peachy all the time, but–”

“But nothing. You told me once that angels have to have consent. Does that include being completely honest with their vessels about how saying yes will completely fuck up their lives?”  You were seething.  “What about you?  Have you ever had to take a vessel?” You waited.  “Damn it, Gabriel!  Answer me!” You slammed your fist down on the table.  “You ever had to take a vessel?  Ever take some human for a ride?” Finally, he gave a small nod.  “Were you upfront with them about how you’d fuck up their life?”

Gabriel sighed, already knowing where your mind was headed. “No.”

“Fuck you!  Fuck all you winged bastards!” You grabbed the closest thing–the mug of tea he’d brought you earlier, and slung it at the far wall. “You don’t care. None of you care.  You make us think we are doing what God wants–that we’re doing something holy and sacred, when really, all you’re doing is screwing us over for your own bullshit.”

“______–”

“What?” You snapped, feeling rage build up. It was this tangible thing, like a hand pushing down on your chest, squeezing you until it took effort to breathe. “You wanna go back to pretending that what you and all the other angels do isn’t completely fucked up?” In one sweeping movement, everything that had been on the table in front of you was sent careening to the floor.

“Feel better now?” To you, his words were just shy of patronizing and it only fueled your anger.

“No!” You were shouting now. “How the fuck am I supposed to feel better?  My whole life is over and my family–my family is broken.  Everything is broken, thanks to you bastards!  And none of you–none of you give a shit what we give up…what I gave up.  And I just keep seeing the same shit happening to other people. I don’t–” the tears had been held off as long as possible. “I don’t even get–I can’t try to make sense of my own life–I’ve gotta keep seeing everyone–everyone else go through the same fucking shit!”

It wasn’t fair!  You needed the chance to grieve the loss of your parents, needed the chance to be furious over having them taken from you.  Instead, all you could see were visions of the lives other angels had ruined.

Gabriel was at your side a moment later, kneeling next to your chair. “I need you to stop keeping this bottled up.  You’ll never be able to move past this–”

“Move past it?  Are you fucking–move past it?  My parents stood there–not three fucking feet in front of me–they stood there and they disowned me.  How the fuck am I supposed to ‘move past it’ when the people who are supposed to be there for me–the people who told me they would always love me, no matter what–how the fuck do I move past them deciding I’m not worth it anymore?”

“I can’t say I know exactly how you feel,” Gabriel began, sighing, “But I want you to remember something–no matter what happens, you do not have to go through it alone.  I may be annoying at times, and you may have days where you want to throttle me, but ______, I am with you, through all of this.  Come hell or high water, I am here.”

The emotions that had been building in you for so long finally began to seep out.  You curled your legs up to your chest and began to sob, burying your face against your knees.  For his part, Gabriel stayed near you, but didn’t move to touch you.  

Still, you cried–you cried in anger at how easily your parents could stop loving you.  You cried in frustration and hatred at Metatron for taking them from you, for everything he’d done to you, and even at God for deciding to make you a prophet.  You cried in self-loathing–you weren’t strong enough to handle this.  You couldn’t bear the burden that had been set upon your shoulders.  God wasn’t supposed to put people through things they couldn’t handle–but He’d been wrong.  He’d been so wrong about you.

Finally, after several long minutes, your tears began to subside and you lifted your head.  Though your vision was blurred, you could still see the huge mess you’d created with your anger. “Shit, Gabriel, I’m–”

“I swear to my Father, sweetheart, if you tell me you’re sorry, I am going to lose my temper. Be angry. Break everything in this place. Hell, I will help you if that would put your mind at ease. But do not, ever, apologize for feeling anything.”

“But I broke–”

“But nothing, ______. Dad gave you the ability to feel and you damn well better start allowing yourself to feel.”

“I hate feeling like this. I hate not having control over my own emotions.”

“I know.” He placed his hand over yours and you flinched, your gut reaction forcing you to yank your hand out from under his.

“Damn it.” Why couldn’t you get your own body to cooperate?  Why did everything have to keep reminding you of how weak you were? “How do I get to being OK again?”

He seemed to ponder your question for several long moments. “I’m going to help you, but you have to promise not to keep all this to yourself anymore.”

“I can’t–I can’t promise.”

“Promise you’ll try?”

You sighed and nodded.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gabriel thinks he has a way to keep your mind off your troubles. Something else is vying for your attention, though._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter contains references to a scene in s10 that I saw as potential rape. If you did not see that particular scene as I did, I apologize. If the scene from "The Things We Left Behind" bothers you, you may want to skip reading this.

Gabriel’s idea of getting you on the path to healing was homework.  

It didn’t make sense, when he first stopped by your room with an armful of books, that this was his grand plan.  You were supposed to open up about how you were feeling, not hide away with your nose stuck in a tome.  

“Look, cupcake,” he smiled, trying not to patronize you, “part of what’s hanging you up is fear.  I mean, you still get jumpy anytime I’m behind you.”

“What does that have to do with these?” You gestured to the books and pages he’d dropped on your bed.  “What is all this shit?”

“I’m gonna educate you, sweetness.”  He grinned.  “This is all the information on all the different supernatural creatures to be found in this world.”

“Supernatural?” You cocked an eyebrow and pulled the top book into your lap.  Shit, all of these were huge.

“Exactly.”

You opened the book and stared at the writing.  “Vampires?  You mean, those sparkly things Denise’s kid was obsessed with?”

Gabriel shuddered.  “Hell no.  We’re talking the real-deal here.”

“So then, Buffy-vampires?”

“Not exactly,” he smiled.  “But definitely closer.”

“So, what?  I’m supposed to spend the next five years reading about vampires and–” you looked at the cover of the next book in the stack, “wendigo?  What the fuck is a wendigo?”

“You’ll know once you read the book.”

His smartass response put a small smile on your face.  Apparently, that was as much of a shock to him as it was to you, if the look on his face was any indication.  You were pretty sure you’d never have the strength to smile again.

“Can’t you just give me the Reader’s Digest version?”

“Nope.  You need to know what’s out there.  And you need to know everything.  Knowledge is power.”

“OK, School House Rock.” You rolled your eyes.

“Pumpkin, you need to know what’s out there.  If you know how to keep yourself safe from dangers, then maybe your fear will start to fade.”

That kind of made sense.  Vampires, wendigo–whatever that was, and…djinn?  All of those things could be after you.  But that didn’t help with your fear of angels, of Metatron, and, unfortunately–Gabriel.

“There’s not really a lot of books on angels.  At least, nothing with any validity to them.  But I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

“Can Metatron be killed?” The question was already rolling off your tongue before he’d even finished offering.

He sighed.  “Once the Angel Tablet is destroyed, yeah.  He’ll be a regular angel, and while difficult, not impossible to kill.”

“Good.”

You elected to ignore the worried look on his face and turned towards the book in your lap.  You weren’t going to apologize for wanting Metatron dead.  Hell, if it was possible, you wanted to be the one to do it.

“______, I want him dead, too.  He doesn’t deserve to live.  But if you let that consume you, it’s going to destroy you.”

“He already destroyed me, Gabriel.” You glared at him.  “There isn’t a part of me he hasn’t broken.  So yeah, I want him to die.  And I’m not sorry about it.”

“But that’s just it, sugar.  You need to heal.  If you are so focused on getting revenge, you won’t be able to heal.  I’m not saying you have to be sorry for wanting him dead.  I just want _you_ to be your main focus right now.  You, and getting better.”  One corner of his mouth hitched up in a half-smile.  “Showing yourself some compassion right now–shouldn’t that be what’s important?  Don’t you deserve to heal more than he deserves to die?”

“Let me read in peace,” you bit out, anger rising.

Gabriel sighed, but disappeared anyway.

You forced yourself to look at the words on the page in front of you, but you found them hard to read as your eyes began to tear up.  The last thing you wanted right now was a taste of your own medicine.

But also–damn Gabriel for being so right.  Even if you weren’t sure you could ever really get better, Metatron didn’t deserve your focus.  Yes, he needed to die, but he didn’t deserve to become an obsession of yours.  Until you knew, without a doubt, that you could do away with the angel-turned-god, you were going to do your best to try and put him out of your mind.

With a bit of renewed energy, you wiped your eyes and began to read.

.

“So, how do you kill a shtriga?”

“The only way for me to kill a shtriga is to wait until it’s feeding and then shoot it with consecrated iron bullets.”  You chewed on your bottom lip, hoping you’d recalled the correct information for Gabriel’s impromptu quiz.

“And what do you do if you don’t have the consecrated iron bullets?”

“Pray to you to come shiv it with your Angel Blade.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Like I’d leave you alone long enough for you to stumble on a shtriga by yourself.”

At his wording, you felt your chest tighten.  This was it for you.  You no longer had your own life.  You no longer had the ability to do anything independently.  You would share every moment of your life with an angel.  An angel whose face still periodically showed up in your nightmares.

“Why am I bothering to learn this, Gabriel?”  What was the point?

“Because.”

You waited a moment, thinking he’d continue.  “Because why?  Don’t pull that bullshit where you tell me it’s because you say so.  I want to know.  Why the fuck am I learning these things if you’re going to be my constant shadow?”  You’d spent over a week so far, reading any and every moment you were awake.

“You want me to be honest with you?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?  Of course I want you to be honest with me!”

He sighed.  “Because I died.  Archangels aren’t supposed to die, but I did.  And maybe Dad brought me back, but I don’t know.  But if this gets messy–and believe me, it’s going to get worse and possibly never better–I want you to know how to protect yourself…just in case.”

You’d never once thought of outliving Gabriel.  Never really thought about not having him in your life, as long as you were alive.  Even when Metatron had you, Gabriel was there, through your mental connection with him.  If Metatron had killed you, then, at least, you wouldn’t have had to go on without the archangel.

God, it was so confusing.  In a matter of moments, you’d gone from feeling trapped at the thought of having him with you every second of every day to feeling distraught at the idea that you might have to face a world without him.  Instead of clinging to either emotion, you deflected.  “You would be that kind of asshole, wouldn’t you?”

“What?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“The kind to die and leave me on my own.”

“I will try my best not to.”

You nodded and sank back into your studying.

.

_His hands.  His fucking hands are all over.  Pulling.  Forcing._

_It’s a young girl he’s grabbing.  She’s trying to fight him off, but he’s too strong.  Claire Novak.  A guy, some fucking asshole has his hands on her.  He’s trying to hold her still.  She’s screaming._

_Castiel, Sam Winchester, and Dean Winchester pull him off of her.  Everything shifts, and a darkness carves into the men who had taken part in holding Claire captive.  It breaks them down, tears them apart.  Piece by piece.  They scream out their pain, only to have the sounds cut short as the life drifts out of their bodies._

_Dean Winchester sinks to his knees amid the slain bodies._

_“Monster!” Claire’s voice rings out._

.

*______!*

You bolted upright, covers sliding off of you.  Your skin felt like it was on fire.  Like it was burning from the sensation of being grabbed and held by that bastard.  Fuck, you needed to get that feeling off of you, and quick.

You were stripped and in your shower before you even realized what you were doing.  You scrubbed every inch of your skin, needing to feel clean again.  The only thing your mind could focus on was the way that man had held her down…planning on…

“Stop it!”  

Gabriel’s voice startled you enough that you dropped the rag you’d been rubbing over your skin.  Looking down, you now noticed just how much you’d scrubbed–the steaming water only adding to the sting you felt all over.

“Gabriel?”  You looked around, poking your head out from behind the curtain, but he wasn’t there.

*In the hall.  We need to talk.*

Ten minutes later, you had on a new set of sleepwear and had finally opened your door to let Gabriel in.

He walked in and immediately crowded you.  “What the fuck happened?”

“What?”  After that vision, you really didn’t want him (or anyone, really) that fucking close to you.  You took a step back, but he only advanced closer.

“The vision, ______.  I could feel it enter this place.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”  What the hell was he talking about?

“The Darkness–the evil.  I felt it’s presence for the first time in…I don’t even know how long.  It seeped through my link with you.  I realized you were asleep, so it must have been broadcast to you through a vision.  So, ______, please, I really need to know what you saw.”

Looking at him, you could see just how stressed he was at the situation.  His eyes were wide and panicked, but the rest of him–fuck, he looked like he was getting ready for a fight.  If his wings had been visible, you were sure they would look as foreboding as the rest of him did.

“Claire–Claire Novak.  She’s Jimmy’s daughter.  You know–Castiel’s–”

“I know who he is.” Gabriel snapped.  “What happened?”

“She–she was with this guy.  Only, he was grabbing her.  Trying to hold her down.”  You couldn’t close your eyes without picturing it all over again.  “He was gonna–”  You felt your body ready itself for vomiting, but you shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.  “Castiel and Sam and Dean Winchester, they saved her.  Then…I don’t know.  Something killed the man and his partners.  All of them.  Ripped them to shreds, like…some kind of massacre.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know.”  Shit, your skin still burned where you’d rubbed it raw.

“Think, ______.  Did you see a face?  Something?”

You shook your head again.  “No.”

“Fuck.”  Gabriel growled.

“But Dean–Dean Winchester.  He was there.  Right in the middle of it all.  After.  And Claire called him a monster.”

“This is just fucking great.  Dean-o gets himself juiced up on the Mark of Cain and now I gotta worry about the fucking Darkness again.”

“If the Darkness is going around, killing men who take sick pleasure in sexually assaulting young girls, then I really don’t see the fucking problem.”  That had been the best part of the vision–not that there ever really was a _good_ part.  But watching those sick fucks die like that?  It had felt right.

“Dean killed those men.  The Darkness was what compelled him to do it.”

“So, what?  He would have just let them go if he hadn’t had the Darkness or whatever?”  Gabriel was angry at the wrong thing.  “Those men deserved what they got.  Fuck you if you think they deserved better.”

“______, do you even hear yourself right now?  You were the one who told me I should go out showing compassion.  Talking about how we should all help each other.  And now you’re practically cheering at the fact that these men were slaughtered?”

“So sue me that after being held prisoner and tortured by a psycho-fuckhead angel I have a change of heart,” you rolled your eyes as you ranted.  “She’s a child.  That asshole deserved everything he got.” You huffed.  “And besides–if it’s a vision, it probably hasn’t even happened yet.  If you’re so damned concerned about a potential rapist, why don’t you just poof on over and save the fuckers?”

“This isn’t about saving those men.  I don’t give a damn about those men and the fate they’re going to meet.”  Well, at least, that much you could agree on.  “This is about what that Mark represents, and the Darkness that is now taking control of Dean.  And maybe even you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve had visions of evil before.  Hell, you’ve even had visions about the Mark before.  But your visions have never bled through our link before.  And fuck, look at your arm!”

You looked down at your arms–specifically, your right arm.  You’d been pressing against your forearm with your left hand, not really even thinking about it.  You had presumed it was burning still because of how hard you’d been scrubbing.

Now, though, you could clearly see the large, jet-black blotch that covered the inside of your forearm.  It wasn’t shaped like the Mark you’d seen on Dean’s arm, but–shit.  And damn, it burned so bad.

Your mind blanked as fear set in.  What the fuck was happening to you?  “Gabriel?” You whimpered, more scared than you’d ever felt.  “Gabriel, what do I do?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just wanted to let anyone who reads this know that I haven't completely abandoned this fic. I'm currently working on my masters degree and it's taking up a lot of my time. I really do love this fic and I won't leave it incomplete. I'm sorry for the huge delays though. (there will probably be more delays, sorry about that, too)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re supposed to be a prophet of the Lord. But all this bleed-through has been screwing with your head. Maybe someone needs to remind you who you work for.

It felt like fire running through your veins.  You screamed out your frustration as you continued to pelt away at the punching bag Gabriel had conjured up.  In your mind it was Metatron’s battered and bloodied face you were wailing on, but the more you swung your fists, the angrier you felt yourself getting.

“I think you got it, sweetheart.”

_Gabriel had recognized your pent up aggression before you had.  He’d said it was probably due to the Darkness overwhelming your visions.  Wanting to give you an outlet, he’d created a gym of sorts, encouraging you to release your frustrations on a punching bag or three._

“I know you heard me, cupcake.” Gabriel grabbed your hands to stop you from taking another swing.  Immediately, you felt the warm tingle of his grace healing your knuckles.  “I think it’s time for a break, yeah?”

“I can’t.”  You tried to yank your arms free, but he held fast.  “Let me go.”

“Not until you agree to give it a rest for a little while.”

“Fine!”  You jerked away from him, and this time, he did release you.  “You don’t understand.”

“I will if you tell me.”

You knew he was worried about you.  Ever since the splotch of black had appeared on your arm.  Hell, you were pretty damn terrified yourself, of these feelings you were having trouble controlling, and of the visions you kept having.

“It’s dark, Gabriel.  Everything is just…it’s so fucking dark.”

“______–”

“She’s just…she’s taunting me.” You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.  “She says she knows what I am.  She knows what I’ve been through.  That it’s not my fault.  And that she wants to help me.”

Gabriel placed his hands on your shoulders, and you could tell, just by the way his fingers flexed, that he was having a hard time not panicking.  “What else did she say to you?”

“I–”

“This is important, ______.”  His grip tightened.  “You need to tell me exactly what she’s been saying to you.”

“Who is she, Gabriel?”

He clenched his jaw in frustration.  “She…I’m pretty sure who you’re seeing is the Darkness.”

Just from the look in his eye, you knew there was something he wasn’t telling you.  Sure, he’d told you that the Darkness was an ancient evil that had been locked away.  He’d told you that the mark on Dean’s arm was the lock.  

But you knew there was more to it than that.  

He was keeping something from you.  Something big.  But that shouldn’t come as a huge surprise.  After all, he’d once told you that, without the First Blade, the mark was just a mark.  If he could lie about that…

“Tell me everything she said to you.”

“Why?”  You pulled yourself from his grasp.  “Why is it so damned important that you know what she said to me?”

“______–”

“No!  If you’re not going to be honest with me about all this, why the fuck should I tell you anything?”

“So what?  You’re just going to keep shit hidden from me?  You remember how well it worked out for you last time when you didn’t tell me something?”

You regretted punching him the moment your fist came into contact with his jaw.  You were pretty sure you’d just broken at least one of your fingers.  Still…  “Low fucking blow, Gabriel.” You tried to shake the pain from your hand.

Sighing in aggravation, he reached out for your hand, but you yanked it back.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“______, stop.  Please.”  He sighed again, holding his hands up in surrender.  “I just want to heal your hand.”

The defeated look on his face had you relenting.  “What is the Darkness, Gabriel?”

He closed his eyes and finished healing your fingers.  “Not a what.  A who.  And she’s God’s sister.”

“The fuck?”

.

Gabriel finally sat and told you everything.  The Darkness is God’s sister.  In order to give life to the universe, God had to lock her away–with the help of Gabriel and his brothers, using the Mark.  The Mark corrupted Lucifer, then Cain, because of the evil it was holding back.  And now Dean had the Mark.  And because of your link, as final prophet of God, the Darkness and her evil was seeping through to you.

“You OK, sugar?  I know that’s a lot to digest.”  Gabriel rested his hand on yours, rubbing his thumb along your fingers in an attempt to soothe you.

“I don’t get it.”  You paused, trying to find the right words.  “Why would he think this is better?  Humans have been tainted by the Darkness since the beginning.  When he realized his little experiment went awry, why didn’t he just…the flood.”  You caught yourself.  “The flood and the ark and–that was God trying to clean up the mess?”

Gabriel nodded.  

“Well, that worked out just soooo peachy, didn’t it?”  You ran your fingers through your hair.  “We’re all still here and we’re all still really fucked up.”

“Hey,” Gabriel took your hand in his once more, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “You’re not so bad.”

“Right.”  You scoffed, ripping your hand from his.  “That’s why you’ve been freaking out ever since this damn thing showed up on my arm.”

“Look, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be worried about you going dark-side,” he sighed when you rolled your eyes.  “______, yeah, you are not the same woman you were when we first met.  You’re not even the same woman I rescued up in heaven.  But underneath all these new layers, there’s still you.  We’ll find you again.”

“What if I don’t want to be found?  Have you thought of that?”  It felt so much easier just to let the anger take over than to try and fight it.  “She said she’d help me.”

“How?” Gabriel’s tone was cautious.

“She said she could make him pay for what he did to me, for everything I’ve been through, and–”

“I told you already, cupcake, when the time comes, we’ll take Metatron down.”

You shook your head.  “Not Metatron.  It’s not him who’d pay.  It’s God.”

.

You watched it all play out in your visions.  Witches and demons.  Metatron losing his grace and becoming human and getting shot (Best vision _ever_ ).  The Book of the Damned.  A cute redhead meeting her end just because she was trying to help.  Dean killing Death (Seriously?  You can _kill Death???_ ).  The Darkness being released on the world.

Once your vision came to pass, once the Darkness, or Amara as she was now called, was released, you felt the shift.  You knew the moment she’d been freed from her prison.  It was as if every part of you was now attuned to her and her actions, her emotions.

.

The wind whipped around you as the sky began to darken.  Your eyes darted in every direction, trying to find an escape route, but you were trapped.  Stuck in the eye of the hurricane.  You opened your mouth to call out for Gabriel, but you closed it again before a sound could escape.  Somehow, you knew there was no way he could help you.

The storm closed in on you, making it hard for you to remain on your feet.  So you dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around your middle, hoping that somehow, you could survive whatever was taking place.

“______.”

The burn of fear crept up the back of your throat.  Something was coming.  Something big.  Bigger than you’d ever faced.  And it knew your name.

“______.”

Instead of responding, you curled in on yourself even more.  This had to be a dream.  Some sort of vision.  It wasn’t real.

“______.”

Except, your visions had never spoken directly to you before.

A burst of bright light had you squeezing your eyes shut.  “My child, do not be afraid.”

You’d never heard this voice before.  It felt like your eardrums were about to burst from the intensity.  You began to tremble, knowing that this was it.  This was your end.

“Open your eyes, ______.”  The voice was softer now, more human.

Every instinct told you to keep your eyes glued shut, but you felt compelled to follow the directions.  Slowly and completely against your will, you opened your eyes, gasping for breath as they quickly adjusted to the light.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”  The face of a man you’d never seen before was smiling down at you.  He was completely encompassed in the light, even as the storm around you continued to howl.  

“Just–just end it already.”  If he was going to torture you…there was no way you could survive another bout of it.  You just didn’t have it in you.  Maybe, one day, Gabriel could forgive you for giving up.

The man sighed.  “Why does everyone think I’m going to kill them?”  He frowned.  “It’s the storm, isn’t it?”  He didn’t wait for your answer before the space around you fell silent.  “Is that better?”  When you didn’t respond, save the tears running down your cheeks, he tried again.  “Relax, please.”

_Since when does anything supernatural sound anxious?_

“I’m not anxious,” he protested.  “And I’m not going to hurt you.”  He cleared his throat.  “I’m God.”

Wait…what?  Surely you had misheard.  “What?”

“Yeah.”  He shrugged.  “Surprise?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded.  There was no way this was God.  God was supposed to be all-powerful.  Not somebody who looked like he’d forgotten to shower for a week and couldn’t be bothered to put on pants.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, ______.” ‘God’ shrugged again, moving to stand right in front of you.

_What the fuck is going on?_

“I’m coming back, ______.  I’m coming back to fix things.” He reached down and cupped your chin with his hand.  A warm feeling overtook you.  “I just need some time.“

_Time?  Time?  God needs fucking time?_

“I know you know who the Darkness is.  I know you’ve seen what she is capable of.  This matter will take planning on my part.”

“S-she’s your _sister_!” You sputtered.

“I am well aware of that.”  He frowned.  “But she is interfering where she has no right to do so.”

“Interfering?  You locked her away!  For all the good it did!”  

You’d cared when you’d gotten mouthy when you first met Gabriel, for fear that he could completely destroy you.  A voice in the back of your mind warned you that you were crossing that line again, with something even more powerful than Gabriel.  But most of you didn’t care anymore.  After everything you’d been through, you just didn’t care.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand–”

“What kind of ‘God’ does this?  What kind of ‘God’ locks his own sister away?  For what purpose?  To create humanity that winds up tainted by her anyway?  How could you possibly think this was OK?”

“______, your mind can’t possibly begin to comprehend–”

“No, I can’t.  I can’t comprehend how you could–”  You cut yourself off, emotions choking you up.  “She’s gonna–”

“She has been speaking to you?”  He gripped your chin.  “What has she been saying?”

“You’re _‘God’_.” You forced, crying out when he tightened his hold to the point of pain.

Immediately, he released you and took a step back.  He almost seemed to be trying to calm himself down.  “You are _my_ prophet, and she has been speaking to you.”  He shook his head, trying to clear the anger from himself.  “We need to discuss what my sister has been saying to you.  All of it.”

 


End file.
